I2ABBTH 


THE   ANCIENT 
LANDMARK 

A   KENTUCKY  ROMANCE 

BY   ELIZABETH    CHERRY 

WALTZ 


REMOVE  NOT 
THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK   WHICH  THY  FATHERS 

HAVE  SET 
PROVERBS,  XXn,   28 

NEW    YORK 

McCLURE,    PHILLIPS    &   CO. 
MCMV 


Copyright,  1905,  by 

McCLURE,  PHILLIPS  &  CO., 

Published  August,  1905 


To  those  men  and  women  who  take  the  larger 
view  and  who  walk  in  the  light  of  it 


2138800 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  A  BARK  TO  BROOK  NO  STORMY  SEA     ...       3 
II  A  VERY  CAITIFF  CROWNED  WITH  CARE    .     .     13 

III  THOU  HAST    NO   TONGUE  TO  TELL   WHO 

MARTYRED  THEE 29 

IV  SHE  Is  MY  GOODS,  MY  CHATTELS      ...     51 
V  A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  NAME 69 

VI  IN  THE  VEIN  OF  CHIVALRY 85 

VII  WHO  EVER  LOVED  THAT  LOVED  NOT  AT 

FIRST  SIGHT 97 

VIII  WITH  GRIEF  THAT'S  BEAUTY'S  CANKER  .     .109 

IX  HERE'S  TO  THE  PANG  THAT  PINCHES  .     .     .    120 

X  PRISONER  IN  A  RED  ROSE  CHAIN  ....   130 

XI   MEN'S  Vows  ARE  WOMEN'S  TRAITORS     .     .139 

XII   PLUCKED  FROM  THE   MEMORY  A    ROOTED 

SORROW 159 

XIII  A  WOMAN'S  NAY  DOTH  STAND  FOR  NAUGHT  .   174 

XIV  CAPTIVE  TO  His  HONEY  WORDS     .     .     ,     .186 
XV  MOST  LOVE'S  MERE  FOLLY 202 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  FACE 

XVI  LORD,  WE  KNOW  WHAT  WE  ARE  BUT  NOT 

WHAT  WE  MAY  BE 210 

XVII  IN  THE  DARK  BACKGROUND  AND  ABYSM  OF 

TIME 223 

XVIII  HERE  Is  MY  JOURNEY'S  END 234 

XIX  METHINKS  THE  AFFRIGHTED  EARTH  SHOULD 

YAWN  AT  ALTERATION 247 

XX  So  TRUE  A  FOOL  Is  LOVE 258 


PROLOGUE 


PROLOGUE 

GENERATIONS  ago  there  rode  over  the 
Alleghanies  on  a  young  horse  one  of  those 
Virginia  youths  to  whom  the  tales  of  the 
vast  hunting  and  pleasure  grounds  of  the  Indians 
in  Kentucky  were  like  glimpses  of  a  new  paradise. 
He  made  quest  of  lands  to  which  he  held  claim 
because  of  the  services  of  one  Fordyce  Fairfax,  a 
young  captain  of  the  Revolutionary  War.  This 
Fordyce  Fairfax  had  sighed  out  his  heart  and  his 
life  in  1 78 1,  from  the  effects  of  the  thrust  of  a  rusty 
bayonet,  and  had  left  this  military  claim  to  his 
young  sister,  Anne,  who  kept  it  for  her  first  born 
son,  one  Fordyce  Beardsley.  She  did  not  live  to  see 
him  claim  it,  but,  after  a  wild  season  at  old  Har- 
vard, he  set  forth  over  the  dividing  mountains, 
leaving  kith  and  kin  behind,  and  for  a  season  was 
lost  to  the  more  civilized  world  save  through  some 
rare  letters  that  reached  his  aged  grandfather  in 
an  old  manor-house  on  the  Potomac  River. 


PROLOGUE 


These  spoke  of  a  successful  settlement  some 
fifty  miles  in  the  wilderness  from  the  growing 
town  of  Lexington.  He  sent  home  a  parcel  of 
rare  skins  one  winter  and  Indian  gewgaws  to  his 
younger  cousins.  Later  he  wrote  of  his  marriage 
to  a  maiden,  Willa  Childress,  "of  lineage  good 
even  as  mine  own,"  and  of  the  new  cabin  he  had 
builded.  Two  years  later,  on  the  day  before 
Christmas,  old  Fordyce  Fairfax,  eagle-eyed  and 
alert  at  seventy  years,  saw  a  horseman  riding 
along  the  snow-covered  river  path,  followed  by 
another  mounted  figure  that  he  took  to  be  a  wo- 
man-servant. The  old  Revolutionary  soldier 
knew  such  travellers  well,  and  long  ere  the 
horseman  had  come  half-way  up  the  tree-arched 
avenue,  he  was  met  by  a  joyous  assemblage  of 
white  and  black,  shouting,  half  mad  with  joy 
over  the  return  of  "young  Marse  Fordyce." 

The  traveller  dismounted  with  difficulty  for  his 
grandfather's  embrace.  He  was  yet  a  slender 
youth,  a  downy  beard  upon  his  chin.  The  old 
man  shuddered  at  his  emaciation. 

"Where's  your  wife  ?     Are  you  ill,  my  boy  ?" 

The  wanderer  gave  a  wan  smile. 

"She  is  dead,  sir,  and  I  have  come  home  to 
die." 

He  walked  in  the  bleak  sunshine  to  the  figure 
on  the  second  horse.  He  took  from  it  a  bundle 
that  had  been  hidden  in  the  folds  of  a  heavy,  fur- 


PROLOGUE  xi 

lined  riding-cloak.  His  eyes  wandered  over  the 
group  and  singled  out  that  black  Aunt  Dolly  who 
had  been  his  own  foster-mother,  although  she 
was  still  a  comely  woman  of  eight  and  thirty.  He 
went  to  her  and  laid  the  bundle  in  her  arms. 

"Here's  what  I  have  left,"  he  said  brokenly, 
then  walked  slowly  to  the  house,  his  arm  in  that 
of  his  grandfather. 

The  bundle  proved  to  be  a  six  months'  old  son. 
He  had  brought  a  widow  woman  over  the  moun- 
tains to  care  for  the  child,  and  she  waited  until 
spring  to  return,  as  the  journey  could  not  well  be 
made  so  late  in  the  winter.  From  her,  but  not 
from  the  weary  young  master,  was  learned  the 
stormy  story  of  pioneer  life,  the  struggle  for  ex- 
istence in  the  cabin  on  the  clearing,  and  the  young 
wife's  death,  caused  indirectly  by  a  fight  with 
a  panther  which  had  made  Fordyce  Beardsley  a 
physical  wreck.  In  the  next  spring-time  the  widow 
woman  went  back  over  the  mountains  with  a  new 
husband,  and  the  young  master  charged  them  to 
keep  his  clearing,  hoping,  in  spite  of  his  poor 
health,  to  return  in  another  year. 

It  was  not  to  be.  He  lived  to  see  his  yellow- 
haired  child  grow  happy  and  merry  in  the  midst 
of  a  dozen  romping  second  cousins.  He  begged 
them  to  bury  him  with  a  poor  little  silhouette  of 
his  girl  wife  on  his  heart.  One  day  the  old  man 
sat  desolate  in  his  hall  with  nothing  to  remind 


rii  PROLOGUE 

him  of  his  sister  Anne  but  an  exquisite  por- 
trait painted  in  England,  on  the  wall,  a  claim  to 
some  hundreds  of  acres  in  the  new  State  of  Ken- 
tucky, and  a  blond  child  that  had  not  about  him 
one  look  of  the  Fairfaxes  or  the  Beardsleys. 

The  old  man  saw  this  Fordyce  Beardsley  over- 
top the  sons  of  his  other  sons  in  stature  and  out- 
strip them  in  mental  attributes.  He  lived  to  see 
him  enter  his  father's  college.  He  left  him  the  old 
home  on  the  Potomac  and  permission  to  marry 
his  second  cousin,  Lucy  Rose,  of  which  the  young 
man  took  immediate  advantage.  He  thereafter 
lived  the  life  of  a  comfortable  and  elegant  coun- 
try gentleman,  honoured  by  all,  although  by  some 
deemed  a  little  peculiar  on  account  of  loose  and 
heterodox  views  on  religious  questions.  In  1830 
he  visited  Kentucky  for  a  brief  season  and  dis- 
posed of  his  land  there  for  a  fortune  as  the  times 
went.  He  had  in  him  a  shrewd  vein  which  he 
showed  by  investments  which  were  always  suc- 
cessful. He  became  a  man  of  affairs  and  travelled 
abroad. 

The  eldest  of  his  two  sons  was  named  Fordyce 
as  the  family  name,  but  the  second  was  called 
Lucian.  In  this  generation  strange  traits  cropped 
out,  for  that  is  the  subtle  way  in  which  dead  men 
tell  tales,  to  say  nothing  of  dear,  dead  women. 
Fordyce  was  tall  and  fair,  but  Lucian  was  like 
nothing  so  much  as  a  gaunt  and  sinewy  Indian 


PROLOGUE  riii 

boy,  and  his  sister  Willa  resembled  him,  with 
little  hint  of  that  lovely  and  fascinating  beauty  of 
which  the  Fairfax  and  Beardsley  women  had  ever 
been  proud.  The  father  gnawed  his  lips  and  said 
nothing,  but,  after  his  return  from  the  Kentucky 
sojourn,  he  told  his  wife  that  which  made  her 
look  with  a  half-afraid  horror  at  some  of  the 
movements  of  her  younger  children.  It  froze  her 
tears  when  the  wilful,  high-cheeked  Willa  lay,  a 
still  corpse,  in  the  drawing-room,  and  all  the 
countryside  mourned.  She  kept  her  grave  cov- 
ered with  flowers,  but  it  was  surely  best,  it  was 
surely  best,  she  often  told  herself. 

By  the  same  irony  of  Fate  the  fair  son  was 
drowned  in  Lake  Geneva  the  year  after  his  grad- 
uation from  his  father's  old  alma  mater.  There 
was  left  the  tall,  lithe,  taciturn  Lucian.  No  one 
guessed  his  true  nature  for  he  was  a  silent  man. 
He  finished  his  college  course  in  accordance  with 
his  father's  wishes,  then  came  home  to  aid  him 
and  to  study  law  during  three  winters  in  Rich- 
mond. The  agitation  before  the  Civil  War  held 
him  in  its  fullest  intensity.  He  and  his  father 
came  very  near  together  in  the  days  when  men's 
hearts  anticipated  the  tattoo  of  the  call  to  arms 
and  their  passions  kept  their  emotions  wrought 
up  to  white  heat. 

The  father  was  not  idle  in  the  years  before  the 
war.  He  was  thoroughly  Southern,  but  his  shrewd 


riv  PROLOGUE 

business  sagacity  anticipated  the  actual  outcome. 
He  believed  that  the  hour  was  at  hand  when  slav- 
ery was  to  come  to  an  end  either  with  or  without 
war.  For  two  years  he  prepared  for  the  coming 
storm.  His  wealth  was  guarded,  he  had  few 
young  negroes,  and  he  persuaded  his  wife  to  take 
an  orphan  niece  and  go  to  Paris,  meaning  to  join 
her  within  the  year. 

When  the  storm  broke,  he  could  not  make  up 
his  mind  to  leave  his  son.  When  Lucian  donned 
his  captain's  uniform,  the  father's  proud  eye  dis- 
cerned the  born  fighter,  the  outcome  of  that 
strange  alliance  with  the  Childress  family  a  cen- 
tury before.  He  never  looked  at  Lucian  without  a 
picture  in  his  mental  eye  of  that  Indian  babe  who 
had  been  found  lying  at  the  door  of  a  pioneer 
cabin  in  the  mountains  by  one  Bogardus  Child- 
ress, a  fur  trader,  who  had  emigrated  early  from 
the  Carolinas.  Bogardus  adopted  the  boy  and 
kept  him  till  the  arrival  of  another  Childress 
brother,  Huon,  with  his  family,  some  six  years 
later.  This  Indian  boy  had  been  bred  up  as  a 
white  man,  and  being  of  a  noble  and  gentle  dis- 
position, he  won  and  married  Blanche  Childress 
after  having  been  baptized  by  a  priest  and  tak- 
ing the  name  of  his  adopted  father.  Fordyce 
Beardsley  knew  that,  in  Lucian,  this  dead-and- 
gone  Indian  ancestor  strongly  asserted  himself. 
He  arose  from  his  forgotten  grave  beside  his 


PROLOGUE  xv 

pioneer  wife  (herself  of  an  old  Huguenot  stock), 
and  again  faced  the  world  as  a  brave  and  a 
warrior. 

They  sat  one  day,  just  after  the  war  storm 
broke,  in  the  library  of  Fairfax  Woods,  the  fine 
old  Virginia  home.  Lucian  was  to  leave  for 
Richmond  in  two  days.  He  was  calm  and  proud, 
but  his  eye  wandered  over  the  paintings  on  the 
walls,  the  familiar  furniture,  the  landscape,  with 
a  prescience  that  amounted  to  a  farewell. 

"There  is  but  one  thing  I  now  regret,  Lucian," 
said  his  father.  "  I  might  as  well  tell  you.  I  ex- 
pressed to  you  several  years  ago  the  disapproval 
I  should  feel  at  any  attentions  you  might  pay 
Miss  Venetia  Bowen,"  he  began. 

Lucian  started  and  gave  a  quick,  sidelong 
glance  at  his  father. 

"I  wish  now  that  I  had  not  denied  you.  It  is  a 
hard  thing  to  have  only  one  son,  and  I  wish  I 
had  not  denied  you." 

Lucian  came  around  to  the  table  and  folded 
his  arms.  He  stood  silent  and  motionless  for  a 
time. 

"Then  you  will  not  mind  it,  father,  when  I  tell 
you  we  have  been  married  for  six  months.  You 
see,  sir,  she  was  so  poor  and  I  could  not  go  away 
and  fight  like  a  man,  leaving  her  here  alone. 
You  may  have  to  look  after  her  later  on." 

The  father  did  not  go  to  Paris,  for  he  took  his 


xvi  PROLOGUE 

son's  word  as  a  command.  Captain  Lucian 
Beardsley  died  on  the  battlefield  of  Bull  Run,  and 
the  young  wife  died  the  next  day  ere  she  heard 
the  news,  leaving  a  desolate  old  man  in  charge  of 
twin  boys  in  the  war-torn  city  of  Richmond. 

He  could  not  be  blamed  for  his  next  action,  al- 
though he  was  afterwards  accused  of  cowardice, 
He  carried  the  children  to  France  and,  for  a  num- 
ber of  years,  lived  there,  until  the  death  of  his 
wife  forced  him  to  bring  her  body  to  her  old 
home.  With  him  came  the  two  boys,  Fordyce  and 
Lucian,  their  youth  to  sweeten  all  his  later  days 
with  absolute  devotion.  The  old  man  was  father, 
mother,  and  grandfather  to  them.  They  were 
alike,  though  one  was  fairer  than  the  other  and 
strangely  congenial.  They  seemed  a  combination 
of  elemental  forces.  The  only  apparent  difference 
of  feeling  between  the  boys  was  that  Fordyce  was 
religious,  while  to  religion  Lucian  was  startlingly 
indifferent.  And  they  grew  to  manhood  ;  Lucian, 
the  darker  twin,  was  the  handsomer,  the  more 
daring  and  brilliant.  There  seemed  to  the  weary 
old  man,  whose  fond  eyes  they  closed,  to  be  a 
singular  freedom  and  unconventionality  about 
him  that  suggested  his  Indian  ancestor  no  less 
strongly  than  the  personal  appearance  of  the 
Confederate  captain. 

The  grandfather,  Fordyce  Beardsley,  who  was 
born  in  the  Kentucky  clearing,  died  in  1885 


PROLOGUE  xvii 

while  the  twins  were  still  in  the  old  college  at 
Cambridge.  The  new  Fordyce  went  abroad  after 
his  graduation,  found  congenial  times  and  man- 
ners in  England,  and  married  an  English  girl  of 
noble  family  and  connections.  The  old  home  had 
been  sacked  and  ruined  during  the  war.  Lucian 
lived  in  New  York,  Paris,  anywhere.  He  was 
strangely  in  accord  with  the  free  life  of  the  end  of 
the  century,  and  he  lived  much  as  he  desired.  Wo- 
men had  not  been  an  essential  part  of  his  early 
life,  and  he  found  youth  slipping  easily  by  with 
little  anxiety  or  ennui.  Of  late  years  his  chief 
pleasure  was  a  stable  of  good  horses,  and  he  had 
an  idea  of  selecting  a  string  to  take  to  England 
some  day.  Fordyce  was  there  and  had  one  or  two 
children  whom  his  brother  had  never  seen. 

The  selection  of  these  horses  led  him  to  Ken- 
tucky. He  had  always  intended  going  there. 
Old  Fordyce  Beardsley  had  told  the  boys  the 
story  of  their  lineage.  He  dwelt  upon  the  brief 
sojourn  of  his  own  boyish  father  in  the  state 
during  its  crucial  period,  and  he  desired  that 
they  should  visit  the  spot  at  some  period  in  their 
lives.  Nor  did  he  neglect  to  speak  of  that  Indian 
ancestor,  whose  forgotten  grave  lay  on  the  side  of 
the  southeastern  mountains,  and  who  had  been 
reincarnated  in  their  father's  face,  courage,  and 
disposition,  to  die  a  soldier's  death  for  a  most  sor- 
rowful and  lost  cause. 


CHAPTER  ONE 

A  BARK  TO  BROOK  NO  STORMY  SEA 

MAY  in  Kentucky.  It  was  the  festival  of 
the  year  in  that  pleasure-ground  of  Na- 
ture. The  very  heavens  seemed  to  smile 
over  all  the  world  with  a  tenderer,  more  trans- 
lucent blue  from  day  to  day.  Growth  ran  riot. 
Tender  things  sprang  out  of  the  earth  in  a  night, 
hastened  and  ran  about  to  cling  to  and  clasp 
sister  and  brother  growths,  and  entwine  as  sleep- 
ing babes  in  the  same  cradle.  The  long  branches 
of  splendid  trees  hung  low  for  vines  to  reach 
upward  and  hold  upon.  Everywhere  was  that 
same  generous,  over-full,  ever-giving  wealth  of 
stalk  and  tendril  and  bud  and  prodigal  bloom. 
Frequent  warm  showers  were  only  harbingers  of 
more  gaudy  sunshine,  more  flaming  blossoms, 
more  drunken  bees  overloaded  and  cloyed  with 
sweets. 

One  morning  there  stood  upon  a  gallery  built 
3 


4  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

about  the  second  story  of  a  plain,  whitewashed 
wooden  house,  a  group  of  Kentucky  men,  or,  as 
they  best  love  to  hear  it  phrased,  "Kentucky 
gentlemen."  They  were  men  of  a  strong  type, 
fused  and  welded  from  diverse  stocks  by  time 
and  circumstance.  The  composite  was  good  to 
see.  It  was  brawn  and  some  brain.  It  was  with- 
out fear,  and  it  held  honour  high.  It  was  patient 
and  sweet-tempered  at  its  best,  but  its  anger  was 
fierce  and  relentless.  It  had  in  it  a  strange  and 
courtly  chivalry,  yet,  if  brought  into  contact  with 
men  of  great  Eastern  cities,  it  possessed  a  certain 
suggestion  of  the  bucolic,  a  certain  reservation 
which  actually  meant  dwelling  in  the  midst  of 
generous  spaces  and  good  privacy. 

When  once  the  type  was  recognized  the  mem- 
bers of  the  group  on  the  gallery  were  like  the 
notes  of  a  scale  upon  an  instrument.  Some  were 
high,  some  were  low,  others  only  semi-tones  of  a 
neighbour.  Most  of  them  were  quite  fair,  blue  of 
eye,  light  of  hair,  and  tawny  of  beard.  Those  who 
were  smooth  of  face  retained  grave  but  boyish 
expressions. 

Before  the  group  on  the  gallery  spread  a  beau- 
tiful expanse  of  rolling  country,  bounded  only  by 
hazy  blue  mists  on  the  horizon.  Here  and  there 
noble  groups  of  trees  appeared,  again  there  was  a 
red-brick  house  in  the  distance  or  a  whitewashed 
cabin  whose  smoke  arose  up  as  straight  as  that  of 


CHAPTER  ONE  5 

an  accepted  sacrifice.  Nearer  were  the  hay  mead- 
ows, pastures  of  blue-green  grass,  thick  hedges. 
Directly  before  the  house  lay  a  half-mile  track, 
a  row  of  whitewashed  stable  sheds,  and  sever- 
al cabins.  It  was  the  private  race-track  and 
view  stables  of  a  Kentucky  horse-breeder  and 
buyer. 

The  owner,  Colonel  Buckman,  was  now  ges- 
ticulating below.  His  nephew,  Ethelbert  Sugg, 
was  on  the  gallery  with  several  visitors  and  horse- 
buyers  from  Lexington.  Ethelbert  was  exceed- 
ingly tall,  and  he  blushed  easily.  Still  he  bore  him- 
self like  a  man,  and  he  showed  a  shrewd  knowl- 
edge of  horse-flesh  and  of  men.  Beside  him  stood 
the  Virginian  whose  lineage  we  know,  Lucian 
Beardsley.  He  was,  in  the  midst  of  that  group,  a 
singular  figure.  Nearly  as  tall  as  the  Kentuckians, 
he  was  so  well  proportioned  that  one  forgot  his 
height.  His  well-cut  hair  was  thick  and  black,  but 
not  coarse.  He  was  fair  with  a  warm  fairness  that 
was  not  ruddy.  His  brows  were  delicately  arched, 
his  one  inheritance  from  his  mother.  His  eyes 
were  clear,  dark  brown  and  bright.  His  lips  were 
full,  red,  and  sensitive.  It  was,  however,  certain 
subtler  characteristics  that  most  distinguished 
him.  He  was  as  alert  as  the  panther  that  had  been 
his  great  grandfather's  death,  as  softly  stealthy 
in  his  unfathomable  expression  as  his  Indian  an- 
cestor, and  yet  he  was  as  polished,  as  finished  a 


6  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

product  of  the  nineteenth  century  as  the  times 
and  the  manners  and  culture  could  produce. 

It  was  not  without  a  lively  and  a  healthy  inter- 
est that  this  man  had  come  into  Kentucky.  In- 
deed, whenever  he  saw  the  word  printed  it  was 
as  though  some  sharp  string  of  memory  twanged. 
He  had  read  much  of  it,  he  knew  its  romantic  and 
absorbing  history,  and  he  came  to  it  with  the  feel- 
ing of  reverence  Kentucky  expects  only  from  her 
sons.  But  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  phantas- 
magoria, the  illimitable  miracle  of  prodigality 
with  which  Nature  rewards  her  worshipping  del- 
vers  in  Kentucky  soil,  all  her  shepherds  and  her 
land  princes.  Here  indeed  were  cakes  and  ale. 
Here  indeed  the  heart  could  be  young,  the  pulse 
merry.  He  was  stirred  from  all  his  poises  and  bal- 
ances. Life  seemed  to  be  a  continual  picnic  and  a 
festival.  It  stirred  him  more  to  see  a  bareheaded 
woman  in  a  diaphanous  gown  saunter  down  the 
streets  of  a  Kentucky  town  under  her  light  para- 
sol, than  to  view  the  pretended  nudity  of  the 
chorus  girls  on  a  New  York  opera  stage.  Women 
to  him  had  been  one  of  the  luxuries  of  life  as  can- 
died cherries  add  a  sweet  zest  to  a  compound 
drink.  On  this  soil  she  was  the  wine  of  life  and  a 
wine  that  made  him  a  little  dizzy. 

Buying  horses  is  a  good  excuse  for  dawdling. 
Lucian  Beardsley  could  dawdle.  He  went  about 
all  his  pursuits  and  pleasure  like  a  gentleman. 


CHAPTER  ONE  7 

There  was  little  of  the  beast  in  him  by  nature  or 
descent,  and  he  continued  his  election  to  a  decent 
course  in  life  as  a  happy  event,  not  as  a  thing  to 
be  dallied  with  or  sullied.  Nature  had  her  way 
with  him  in  Kentucky,  but  only  made  his  soul 
waxen  for  the  impress  of  a  fate  and  a  future  that 
was  bearing  down  upon  him. 

He  had  to  come  out  to  this  sale  from  Lexing- 
ton because  of  the  fame  of  several  two-year-olds 
having  reached  the  buyers.  As  yet  he  had  only 
succeeded  in  buying  Fordyce  a  famous  saddle 
horse  for  which  he  had  a  commission  from  over 
the  sea.  There  was  one  horse  near  this  place  of 
which  many  kind  things  had  been  said,  but  it 
belonged  to  a  half-mad  doctor  whose  words  were 
not  to  be  depended  upon.  This  man  had  been 
boasting  the  night  before  at  Colonel  Buckman's 
expense  in  front  of  the  Grafton  Hotel,  and  he  then 
promised  to  bring  over  this  vaunted  "  Kentucky 
Cupid"  and  let  Lucian  time  him.  As  yet  he  had 
not  made  his  appearance,  and  the  sale  went  on 
rather  monotonously. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  before  the  lank  Ethelbert 
called  out  with  a  twist  of  his  shoulders : 

"  Foah  Gawd,  the  doctor's  coming  ovah  field 
with  Kentucky  Cupid." 

Snatching  the  glass,  Lucian  Beardsley  turned 
it  to  the  south.  Over  the  blue-grass  pasture  rode 
the  slim  figure  of  the  doctor,  a  small  darkey  rid- 


8  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

ing  another  horse.  At  the  latter  animal  the  Vir- 
ginian gazed  with  intense  interest.  There  was  no 
doubt  but  that  it  was  the  most  promising  looking 
horse  in  the  country. 

"Wondah  he's  up,"  remarked  Ethelbert; 
"leastways  he  usually  sleeps  all  day  and  prowls 
of  nights." 

"Queer  habits,"  remarked  Lucian,  taking  a 
cigar  from  his  teeth. 

"He's  a  demon,"  broke  in  another  man,  "or 
as  nigh  it  as  we  want  in  these  parts.  If  I  war  sure 
all  those  tales  —  ' 

"Now  don't  you  belie  a  neighbour,"  broke  in 
a  third  man;  "he  went  to  school  with  we  all. " 

"Ef  it  war  not  foah  that,  Allison,"  said  the 
other,  flushing  red,  "we  none  of  us  could  rest 
in  our  beds." 

"Is  he  dangerous  ?"  inquired  Lucian  with  cu- 
riosity. 

"He  is  all  right  ef  it  was  not  foah  some  drugs 
he  uses,"  said  Ethelbert  shortly,  "and  he  takes 
them  free,  as  the  best  o'  men  sometimes  take 
their  whisky,  gentlemen. " 

By  this  time  the  small  negro  had  guided  the 
horse  through  a  gate  onto  the  track  and  cantered 
him  easily  down. 

Lucian's  heart  bounded.  This  was  a  noble 
horse,  an  equine  king.  Little  need  to  call  for  his 
pedigree,  to  examine  his  registration.  The  satin 


CHAPTER  ONE  9 

flanks  shone  red  in  the  sunshine,  quivering  deli- 
cately. The  small  head  was  erect  with  a  con- 
scious pride  and  spirit.  The  beautiful  eye  was 
human  in  its  intelligence.  He  curvetted,  leaped, 
neighed  with  joyous  spirit  and  sagacious  cour- 
age. 

As  Lucian  looked,  delighted,  on  this  fine  crea- 
ture, the  shy  Ethelbert  was  giving  him  the  full 
history  of  the  horse  and  his  trials  at  speeding. 
The  doctor  reached  the  house  and  mounted  the 
outside  stairs  of  the  gallery.  He  came  toward 
the  men  at  the  rail  with  a  silly,  aimless  smile  and 
glazed  eyes.  Looking  upon  him,  Lucian  detected 
that  odour  which  at  once  connects  itself  with  the 
Chinaman  of  the  slums. 

"Faugh!"  he  thought,  "I  will  buy  the  horse, 
for  I  feel  sorry  that  he  has  such  an  owner. " 

"Shall  we  time  this  Cupid  ?"  he  asked  of  the 
pallid  man  who  had  been  gazing  absently  at  the 
group  below. 

"O  yes,  O  yes,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "You'll 
find  him  more  than  you  bargained  for,  Mr. 
Beardsley.  Sugg,  isn't  there  a  drink  here  ?  I  got 
up  too  early." 

Some  one  handed  him  a  bottle,  from  which  he 
took  a  long  draught.  He  then  sat,  more  ani- 
mated, close  to  the  rail  to  watch  the  start  of 
Kentucky  Cupid. 

They  were  fixing  stirrup  or  saddle  when  Lu- 


io  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

cian  raised  the  glass  to  scan  every  foot  of  the 
track.  His  vision  took  in  the  pasture  over  which 
Doctor  DeWitt  and  the  roan  horse  had  passed. 
Here  the  man's  eyes  met  a  sight  they  would  not 
soon  forget. 

A  woman  was  running  like  mad  over  the  pas- 
ture grass.  She  wore  no  hat  and  held  up  her  gown 
to  help  her  speed.  Her  hair  was  almost  red  as  the 
shining  flanks  of  Kentucky  Cupid.  He  could  see 
her  very  well  through  the  clear  glass.  Her  face 
was  white  and  her  round  bosom  rose  and.  fell  as 
with  angry  sobs.  Sometimes  she  stumbled,  some- 
times she  had  to  stop  to  breathe,  but  still  she 
came  on  and  on  toward  them. 

A  shout  from  the  Colonel.  Kentucky  Cupid 
was  to  start.  The  Virginian  collected  his  senses  to 
watch  the  seconds,  but  it  was  a  supreme  effort. 
His  attention,  curiosity,  interest,  were  all  with 
that  stumbling  creature  who  ran  as  one  pursued. 
Her  course  was  straight  for  the  group  below  him. 
What  tragedy  or  what  comedy  brought  her  so 
breathlessly  ?  His  blood  ran  swifter  in  his  veins. 
This  was  a  land  for  mad  impulses  and  strange 
happenings. 

The  horse  came  on  gallantly,  easily.  There 
was  a  great  shout  from  below.  Lucian  leaned 
down  and  called  out  exultantly: 

"Fifty-four  and  a  half!  Good  colt)  He'll 
bear  training.  Good  horse  !" 


CHAPTER  ONE  11 

The  woman  was  now  running  close  against  the 
fence.  The  Virginian  turned  to  the  haggard  man 
beside  him. 

"I'll  buy  that  horse  if  we  can  come  to  terms. 
He  is  good  stuff." 

" I  told  you! "  cried  the  doctor.  Great  drops  of 
sweat  stood  over  his  bushy  eyebrows.  His  mouth 
and  fingers  worked  nervously. 

"Your  price?"  said  Lucian  impatiently.  He 
could  hear  footsteps  coming  up  the  stairs.  Those 
Lexington  men  were  not  asleep.  The  man  before 
him  was  evidently  making  a  supreme  effort  to 
collect  his  faculties.  He  made  several  attempts  to 
speak,  and  only  mumbled  something  which 
sounded  like  a  price  in  thousands. 

"  I'll  take  him,"  said  Lucian,  and  then  a  hurry- 
ing woman  sped  in  between  him  and  the  miser 
able  figure  of  the  man. 

It  was  the  woman  who  ran.  Her  light  print 
gown  was  drabbled  and  grass-stained.  Her  au- 
burn hair  was  falling  down.  Her  breath  came  in 
pants  as  does  an  animal's.  She  was  as  frightened 
as  a  child,  yet  her  desperation  drove  her 
on. 

"O  sir,  you  must  not  listen.  He  should  not  sell 
the  horse." 

"Go  home,  and  go  to  hell!"  suddenly  yelled 
the  doctor.  His  face  was  livid. 

Steps  were  coming  up  hurriedly. 


12  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"Go  home,  I  tell  you!"  came  a  hideous  yell, 
"the  horse  is  already  sold." 

The  woman  turned  her  large  and  pitiful  eyes 
on  Lucian.  She  clutched  his  sleeve. 

"You  must  not  buy  him.  He  is  mine,  the  last 
thing  that  my  father  gave  me.  He  shall  not  sell 
him.  He  does  not  know  what  he  is  doing. " 

For  comment  the  madman  jumped  forward 
and  struck  her  down.  Her  face  lay  on  the  foot  of 
the  Virginian,  her  abundant  hair  mercifully  cov- 
ering it. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

A  VERY  CAITIFF  CROWNED  WITH  CARE 

IT  was  sunset  of  the  same  day.  The  Virginian 
sat  in  a  comfortable  steamer-chair  upon  the 
broad  portico  of  Colonel  Buckman's  brick 
mansion-house.  He  had,  without  the  least  hesita- 
tion, accepted  that  gentleman's  invitation  to 
remain  with  him  a  few  days  and  to  accompany 
him  into  neighbouring  counties  to  see  horses  upon 
which  the  Kentuckian  had  kept  an  eye  since  they 
were  foaled.  He  had  been  given  a  large  guest-room 
on  the  first  floor,  and  found  that  his  baggage  had 
preceded  him  from  Grafton.  He  put  himself  in 
order  and  appeared  in  answer  to  the  tinkle  of  a 
bell  which  he  guessed  meant  the  supper  of  the 
Kentucky  country  house. 

His  brain  was  still  in  a  whirl  after  the  morning 
scene.  Some  one  —  nay,  it  was  the  shy  Ethelbert 
himself — had  snatched  up  the  stricken  woman 
at  his  feet  and  hurried  off  with  her.  He  saw  strong 

'3 


i4  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

hands  laid  on  Dr.  DeWitt  and  heard  that  curses 
not  loud  but  deep,  accompanied  a  sharp  lecture, 
while  the  man  was  hustled  on  to  his  horse.  He 
thought  he  heard  Colonel  Buckman's  voice  in 
low,  fierce  execration  at  the  stirrup,  then  a  cut 
from  a  whip  sent  the  mare  out  into  the  pasture 
again.  The  men  about  Lucian  breathed  hard  for 
a  while  and  looked  moody.  There  was  a  curious 
reservation  about  the  anger  of  these  Kentuck- 
ians  that  Lucian  Beardsley  did  not  understand. 
His  blood  had  welled  up  hotly  and  more  fiercely 
than  ever  before  in  his  life.  He  was  stirred  as 
never  before.  A  mist  blinded  his  eyes  and  a  pa- 
ralysis clutched  at  his  throat. 

The  sale  went  on.  A  lunch  was  served  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  house  at  noon,  a  sumptuous 
meal  of  fried  chicken,  beaten  biscuits,  coffee, 
strawberry  shortcake  and  sweetcakes.  Staid  ne- 
gro women  in  neat  gowns  and  white  aprons  wait- 
ed upon  them.  Lucian  ate  and  drank  while  won- 
dering that  the  others  could  and  did.  In  him 
throbbed  the  sudden  consciousness  of  the  tragedy 
that  underlies  all  human  life.  He  had  been  be- 
lated in  getting  this  consciousness.  The  world 
had  gone  very  well  with  him.  His  spirit  had  never 
before  been  touched  to  a  fine  issue,  but  he  sud- 
denly realized  that  there  were  in  him  strong  feel- 
ings which  he  had  not  known  despite  his  educa- 
tion, travel,  worldly  wisdom  and  experiences. 


CHAPTER  TWO  15 

He  had  skimmed  existence  as  a  skater  skims  over 
thin  ice,  while  below  are  depths  of  death. 

After  dinner  the  exhibition  and  sale  went  on, 
but  in  these  activities  he  now  had  little  inclina- 
tion or  interest.  He  smoked  silently  under  a  great 
elm  tree,  wondering  what  had  become  of  the  wo- 
man. He  respected  the  proud  reserve  of  the  men 
about  him.  He  felt  that  he  was  an  alien  and  she 
must  be  protected  from  impertinent  thought  as 
one  of  themselves.  He  remembered  the  look  on 
the  thin  face  of  young  Sugg  as  he  snatched  her 
away  from  observation.  It  was  one  which  might 
have  been  depicted  upon  the  face  of  a  Knight  of 
the  Round  Table,  so  sorrowful,  protecting,  and 
shielding.  Yet  young  Sugg  was  now  among  the 
men  the  same  as  ever,  awkardly  alert,  attentive 
enough,  but  with  such  reservation  of  speech  and 
attitude  as  forbade  questions. 

Lucian  Beardsley  was  startled  at  his  own 
strange  fancies.  Thoughts  haunted  him  like  dis- 
embodied spirits.  A  woman  struck  down  ?  Bah! 
He  had  seen  a  hundred  drunken  drabs  in  foul 
places  fall  and  falling,  struck  down,  pushed  aside 
with  brutal  haste  and  passion.  He  had  also 
looked  upon  dead  women  of  society,  whiter, 
fairer  in  their  burial  robes  than  the  lilies  and 
roses  and  violets  with  which  they  were  covered. 

He  had  then  idly  wondered  what  these  maids 
and  matrons  of  fashion  would  find  ahead  of 


1 6  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

them,  whether  they  would  penetrate  a  state  where 
the  entire  falseness  of  their  training  would  be 
made  manifest  to  them.  Women  ?  Why,  women 
were  solely  for  the  pleasure  of  men  who  had  that 
tendency  as  a  weakness.  It  amused  some  men  to 
woo,  to  disdain,  to  choose  and  dispose  of  crea- 
tures feminine.  His  twin  brother,  Fordyce,  had 
that  common  weakness,  but  Lucian  had  not  been 
able  to  sympathize  with  his  early  marriage.  He 
thought  his  sister-in-law  fair  but  stupid  and 
wholly  without  the  chic  and  vogue  that  made 
women  at  all  endurable.  The  dumb  content  in 
the  eyes  of  his  twin  when  they  rested  upon  his 
wife  and  children  rather  exasperated  Lucian. 
The  two  had  grown  up  without  any  decided 
impress  from  woman,  and  had  done  very  well. 
Why  should  Fordyce  have  so  soon  capitulated 
to  the  silken  string  of  a  petticoat  and  have  mort- 
gaged his  life  interests  to  the  dictates  of  a  month- 
ly nurse  ?  Lucian  had  never  given  marriage  a 
moment's  earnest  thought.  He  played  the  gen- 
tleman and  paid  his  way  royally.  Fordyce  had 
renewed  the  stock  legitimately  and  the  name 
would  live. 

The  sale  was  not  over  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon; then  the  Eastern  man  waited  for  his  host 
who  had  many  arrangements  to  make.  Coionel 
Buckman  was  short  and  red-faced,  but  he  was 
never  flustered  or  undetermined.  He  finally 


CHAPTER  TWO  17 

placed  Lucian  in  a  much-used  buggy  and  drove 
him  at  a  spanking  pace  up  a  lane  to  the  great 
house  where  he  was  master.  A  very  black  negro 
was  in  waiting  at  the  front  steps,  and  to  him  the 
Colonel  confided  the  guest  while  he  drove  his 
mare  on  to  the  house  stables  himself. 

As  the  guest  came  out  into  the  wide  hall  from 
his  room  the  Colonel  was  waiting,  and  beside 
him  stood  a  tall  and  spare  lady  in  whose  face 
was  that  mild  yet  proud  expression  rarely  seen 
now  save  in  old  portraits  hidden  in  out-of-the- 
way  places.  It  would  not  do  to  apply  the  word 
"women"  to  these  dames.  There  is  only  one 
word  fitting  for  them,  and  that  is  the  lovely  one 
of  olden  time,  "the  lady." 

"This  is  my  wife,  Mr.  Beardsley,"  said  the 
Colonel  in  a  very  gentle  voice  for  him  ;  "  she  was 
with  Mrs.  DeWitt  when  you  arrived." 

"I  hope  you  will  enjoy  your  stay,"  said  the 
wife.  Not  so  much  the  words  but  the  smile  with 
it  warmed  Lucian's  heart  and  relieved  the  terri- 
ble tension  under  which  he  had  been  all  the 
afternoon.  He  answered  the  smile  with  one  so 
dazzling  that  Mrs.  Buckman  at  once  coloured 
shyly.  Rarely  was  seen  such  a  man  as  Lucian 
Beardsley  in  the  quiet  country  houses  about 
Broad  Acres. 

He  was  placed  at  his  hostess's  right  hand  at  a 
small,  circular  table.  It  had  been  pushed  close 


1 8  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

to  the  porch  window  and  set  off  with  red  rose- 
buds in  a  crystal  vase.  Lucian  thought  it  a 
lovely  picture,  this  dainty,  elderly  lady  serving 
tea,  with  her  soft,  gray  hair,  her  lilac  gown,  her 
bits  of  lace  and  her  dainty  apron.  He  looked 
from  her  husband  to  her.  Between  them,  al- 
though they  seemed  an  ill-assorted  pair,  there 
were  the  strong  bonds  of  peace  and  love. 

To  her,  then,  they  had  brought  that  poor 
young  creature.  Suddenly  Lucian  realized,  with 
a  sick  shudder,  the  full  meaning  of  the  morn- 
ing's scene.  That  man's  wife  ?  God!  Were  there 
such  things  in  this  place,  this  festival-spot  of 
all  Nature  ?  Were  there  thorns  in  the  blossom- 
ing hedges,  cankers  on  the  rose  petals  ?  Were 
there  tragedies  going  on  in  these  wide-windowed 
houses,  stealing  through  the  great  corridors  and 
out  of  the  big-hinged  doors  ? 

His  host  was  talking  horses  and  politics  to 
an  inattentive  ear.  He  managed  to  reply,  but 
with  wandering  wits.  He  was  glad,  after  the  meal, 
to  be  allowed  to  sit  alone  upon  the  porch  for  a 
brief  time.  The  universe  had  upheaved  and  he 
did  not  know  whether  he  had  any  footing  as 
yet.  He  quivered  still  when  he  thought  of  the 
woman  who  fell  at  his  feet  and  the  villainous 
madness  of  her  husband's  face. 

Presently  Mrs.  Buckman  came  out  to  him 
and  sat  near  him  in  a  low  willow-rocker.  With  a 


CHAPTER  TWO  19 

sigh  of  relief  Lucian  contemplated  the  faded 
delicacy  of  her  features.  Surely  the  nipping 
frosts  of  adversity  had  been  tempered  here.  She 
was  like  a  sweet  late  rose,  a  fragile  thing  whose 
petals  would  soon  fall.  He  wanted  to  question 
her,  but  there  was  that  in  her  manner  which 
defied  curiosity. 

She  spoke,  however,  in  an  even,  gentle  way, 
of  the  very  subject  seething  in  his  brain. 

"You  will  not  think  of  keeping  Dr.  DeWitt 
to  the  sale  of  that  horse,  Mr.  Beardsley  ?" 

"No,  no!  But,"  with  a  sudden  frown,  "it 
would  make  it  easier  for  me  to  understand  it 
all.  I  wanted  that  horse  as  soon  as  I  saw  him." 

"Mrs.  DeWitt's  father  gave  the  horse  to  her 
before  he  died,"  replied  the  lady,  quite  as  evenly 
as  before.  "She  looks  to  him  to  redeem  in  the 
future  that  part  of  her  property  that  is  under 
a  heavy  mortgage." 

"Is  she  here?"  burst  from  Lucian  with  sud- 
den intensity;  then,  as  though  half-repentant, 
"  I  wonder  if  you  knew  how  —  to  a  stranger  — 
how  it  all  looked  ? " 

Mrs.  Buckman  clasped  her  hands  a  little 
nervously. 

"O,  I  can  imagine.  It  is  our  right  sore  spot. 
We  are  so  powerless  to  do  anything,  you  see." 

"Do  you  mean  that  such  things  often  hap- 
pen ?"  inquired  the  Virginian  unsteadily. 


20  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"  We  all  don't  know  much  —  only  now  and 
then  some  one  has  to  shelter  her  for  a  day  or 
two  until  the  very  worst  blows  over.  Ethel- 
bert  Sugg  ought  to  have  warned  you  about 
making  any  offer  for  Cupid,  but  it  seems  that 
the  doctor  told  him,  last  night,  that  Dulcie  had 
at  last  consented  to  the  sale.  We  all  thought  that 
he  would  wear  her  clear  out  on  it.  He  has  cer- 
tainly worn  out  many  ideas  of  hers.  When  one 
is  very  tired  resolutions  are  hard  to  hold  to, 
Mr.  Beardsley." 

"How  is  she  ?  Was  she  hurt  ?" 

"  Her  shoulder  was  sprained  and  badly  bruised. 
Then  the  shock.  But,  you  know,  women  look 
frail  and  are  really  enduring." 

She  spoke  slowly. 

Lucian  Beardsley  felt  that  his  mind  was  as 
that  of  an  octopus,  thrusting  forth  a  hundred 
tentacles  of  wonder  to  grasp  at  dreadful  facts. 
He  arose,  lit  another  cigar,  and  walked  over  to 
the  railing. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Buckman,"  he  said  softly, 
"my  mother  and  father  died  in  the  infancy  of 
my  twin  brother  and  myself.  My  grandmother 
I  barely  remember,  and  I  have  no  near  female 
relatives.  I  have  not  known  much  of  women  for 
all  my  mingling  with  society,  and  never  of  such 
a  woman  as  you  are.  I  burn,  yes,  really  burn, 
to  ask  questions  of  you,  but  I  fear  that  you  may 


CHAPTER  TWO  21 

think  me  curious  and  with  an  idle  motive.  Be- 
lieve me,  it  is  not  so." 

Mrs.  Buckman  had  a  delicate  flush  on  her 
cheeks  as  she  said  quite  slowly: 

"You  were  too  much  moved.  You  would  have 
struck  him,  maybe  killed  him.  Why  did  you 
feel  that?" 

"No  ignoble  rage,"  he  replied  quickly,  "and 
I  only  know  from  you  what  I  really  did.  I  passed 
out  of  myself." 

"  A  generous  rage  and  good  motive,"  she  went 
on,  musingly,  "but  as  dangerous  to  her  as  a 
blighting  wind.  No  breath  has  ever  hurt  Dul- 
cie's  good  name.  She  is  here  now,  but  I  have  sent 
for  Dr.  DeWitt  to  take  her  home  at  once." 

"My  God!"  cried  Lucian.  His  cigar  fell  away. 
"To-night?" 

"To-night,"  said  the  gentle,  firm  voice,  "she 
must  be  under  her  husband's  roof.  You  are  our 
guest.  O,  my  friend,  I  am  sure  that  you  will  un- 
derstand me  when  I  saythatnotroubleshehashad 
would  be  as  one  she  has  not.  Now  we  all  weep 
with  herwhilewe  all  respect  her  and  prayforher." 

"But  she  is  surely  safe  with  you,"  he  gasped, 
"with  you,  and  this  little  respite  only  until 
another  day  ?  Madame,  I  cannot  understand.  I 
will  go  away." 

She  sat  up  quite  rigidly  and  folded  her  hands 
firmly  over  her  lilac  gown. 


22  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"Mr.  Beardsley,  we  are  very  careful  of  our 
women's  honour  in  Kentucky.  Dulcie  is  to  me 
almost  like  my  own  child,  yet  I  must  send  her 
home  any  night  she  comes  here.  She  knows  it. 
She  will  not  expect  to  stay  to  bring  trouble  on 
any  of  her  father's  old  friends." 

A  merciless  mood  swept  over  the  man.  His 
voice  rang  out  like  a  trumpet  peal. 

"Wait!  I  may  be  mistaken  somehow.  Here  is  a 
woman  married  to  a  man  who  is  maddened  by 
excessive  use  of  drugs,  liquors,  and  what  not.  He 
certainly  abuses  her.  You  all  know  it,  you  all 
deplore  it,  you  all  grieve  over  it,  but  you  let  it  go 
on  and  you  will  not  shelter  her  in  your  houses 
at  night  for  fear  of — what?  Is  it  trouble  with 
the  madman,  or  because  of  saving  her  reputa- 
tion ?" 

"Both,"  replied  Mrs.  Buckman,  earnestly; 
"you  see,  it  is  a  forbidden  thing  to  come  between 
man  and  wife.  Even  her  own  father  refused  to 
meddle." 

"And  her  church  —  of  which  you  spoke  ?" 

"The  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  does  not 
believe  in  such  interferences.  We  all  can't  do 
one  thing  for  Dulcie,  Mr.  Beardsley.  We  all," 
lowering  her  voice,  "can't  do  anything  but  hope 
that  there  will  be  a  release.  They  say  that  drugs 
like  those  kill  in  a  little  while,  and  we  all  have 
been  actually  hoping  for  something  to  happen." 


CHAPTER  TWO  Z3 

Somewhere  Lucian  Beardsley  had  read  a 
phrase  which  suddenly  blazed  out  before  his 
thought. 

"Held  in  the  grasp  of  the  Omnipotent!" 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Mrs.  Buckman,"  he 
continued  after  a  silence.  "That  man  is  not  go- 
ing to  die  for  a  long  time,  unless  by  an  accident. 
He  is  like  the  Hindoo  and  Chinese  priests, 
skilful  enough  in  the  use  of  those  accursed  prep- 
arations of  opium  and  cocaine  to  become  a 
human  mummy.  Some  of  those  men  live  over 
a  hundred  years.  And  for  her  —  why,  she  must 
be  rescued.  Let  her  friends  help  her  to  a  divorce." 

Mrs.  Buckman  arose  and  clutched  his  arm, 
looking  about  fearfully. 

"  Hush ! "  she  whispered,  "  she  might  hear  you. 
That  was  the  whisper  of  the  devil." 

She  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

"Madame,  I  did  not  mean  to  agitate  you. 
Forgive  me.  Divorces  are  common  now.  O,  I 
only  make  it  worse.  I  will  not  mention  it  again." 

"Do  not,"  she  breathed  excitedly.  "I  feel 
assured  that  you  meant  no  harm.  The  devil 
enters  men's  souls  when  they  do  not  guess  it. 
He  breathes  forth  evil  in  a  single  word,  a  phrase. 
You  know  not  what  terrible  thing  you  have  said, 
for  you  have  been  orphaned  and  without  wo- 
man's good  influence.  I  will  pray  for  you  that 
you  may  not  ever  mention  that  word  again." 


24  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"Again  pardon  me,"  he  said  very  gently. 
"We  will  drop  the  subject  after  one  or  two 
questions.  How  long  after  their  marriage  before 
the  doctor  took  up  his  habits  ?  Have  they  any 
children?" 

"The  children  are  dead,  mercifully,"  she  shud- 
dered; "as  to  the  other — "  here  she  breathed 
heavily  again—  "O,  it  is  a  pitiful  thing,  but 
it  is  now  known  that  he  had  the  habit  before; 
that  his  own  father  hurried  on  the  marriage  with 
the  hope  that  he  would  break  off,  and  so  it 
has  ever  been.  My  poor  Dulcie!" 

A  deep  execration  burst  from  Lucian  Beard- 
sley's  lips.  He  was  again  at  white  heat. 

"Fraud,  fraud!"  he  was  saying  between  his 
teeth  as  he  paced  the  porch  up  and  down. 

"Another  sadness  of  it  is  that  he  has  dissi- 
pated her  estate.  He  wears  her  out  to  do  this  or 
that.  She  has  put  herself  down  to  the  farm  super- 
intendence in  order  to  keep  up  a  living  —  he 
has  no  more  practice;  she  is  a  dear  woman,  but 
it  seems  worse  than  useless.  Colonel  Buckman 
says  she  is  not  suited  to  any  hard  tasks.  Dulcie 
needs  to  be  upheld,  not  to  uphold  any  burden. 
But  there  —  you  will  now  understand,  and  I 
am  sure  that  you  will  oblige  me  by  withdrawing 
when  the  doctor  comes,  as  he  soon  will,  to  take 
his  wife  home." 

The  little  iciness  in  her  tone  did  not  escape  him. 


CHAPTER  TWO  25 

"I  think  I  should  much  enjoy  a  smoke  in  the 
quiet  of  the  garden,"  he  said  at  once.  "May  I 
get  my  hat  and  have  a  walk  ?" 

"The  Colonel  has  a  sick  stable-boy  on  hand," 
she  made  instant  reply,  "but,  as  soon  as  he 
comes  in,  I  will  send  him  into  the  grounds  to 
find  you.  He  carries  a  silver  dog-whistle,  and 
here  is  mine  for  you." 

She  detached  it  from  a  little  chain  at  her 
belt.  Lucian  passed  to  his  room.  Whether  he 
took  the  wrong  turn  or  not  he  never  knew,  but 
he  drew  up  suddenly  before  a  half-open  door. 
At  a  low  dressing-table  sat  a  pallid  woman.  A 
middle-aged  negress  was  combing  out  long,  lus- 
trous waves  of  red-gold  hair.  A  face  showed  in 
the  mirror.  It  was  a  terrified,  woeful  face,  and 
across  the  brow  there  was  a  dark  bruise.  The 
next  moment  Lucian  Beardsley  hurried  past 
Mrs.  Buckman  on  the  portico  and  plunged,  hat- 
less,  down  the  entrance  avenue.  It  was  not  so 
dark  but  he  could  guide  himself  to  one  side  of 
the  grove  after  a  short  walk  and  find  a  rough 
bench  upon  which  he  sat  down  in  a  turmoil  of 
astounded  despair. 

Furious,  hot  anger  shook  him.  He  could  have 
clutched  the  neighbourhood  as  one  man  and 
shaken  it  for  detested  cowardice.  A  brave  land 
this,  where  a  woman  could  be  held  in  such  per- 
secution and  durance  vile,  and  where  no  one 


26  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

dared  or  cared  to  aid  her!  Vagrant  thoughts 
of  the  old  fairy  tales  beset  him.  "O  sweet,  white 
lady,  hard  in  the  grasp  of  a  horrible  ogre,  a 
fairy  prince  should  seek  thee  out  and  slay  the 
iron  hand  that  holds  thee  fast!"  That  was  mad 
folly  in  these  practical  days,  but  there  must  be 
some  release.  God  never  intended  any  weak 
creature  to  be  bounden  thrall  to  sin  and  vice,  if 
there  was  a  God.  There  was  not  any  parallel  to 
this  atrocity  in  all  Nature.  The  female  animal 
rights  valiantly  for  every  right. 

If  fear,  deadly  fear,  ever  sat  upon  a  human 
countenance  it  was  upon  that  one  that  looked 
into  the  mirror  with  eyes  unseeing  as  he  passed. 
Her  tyrant  was  coming  after  her.  She  knew  it. 
God  in  heaven,  if  there  was  a  God,  have  mercy 
upon  her! 

There  was  soon  a  sound  of  wheels.  Some  one 
drove  into  the  avenue  and  past  him  as  he  sat 
in  the  shadow  of  a  clump  of  lilac-bushes.  No 
need  to  ask  who  it  was.  Devoid  of  shame,  sus- 
tained by  public  feeling,  the  victim  of  his  own 
weakness  and  passions  passed  on  to  carry  home 
his  helpless  prey. 

In  order  to  see  them  as  they  repassed,  the 
stranger  had  but  to  seek  a  clump  of  cedars 
nearer  the  gate.  It  was  not  long  to  wait.  The 
woman  had  been  made  ready.  Nearer  came  the 
clattering  wheels,  the  horse  dashed  past.  There 


CHAPTER  TWO  27 

was  only  a  faint  glimpse  of  a  shrouded  head,  but 
it  changed  the  whole  current  of  his  thought. 

There  was  so  little  of  vice  he  had  not  viewed 
in  a  study  of  dissipation.  He  had  a  faint  idea  of 
scenes  that  could  be  enacted  at  Glen  Farm,  of 
tortures  that  this  woman  could  be  made  to 
undergo.  It  sickened  him.  O,  for  the  white 
purity  enthroned  in  those  pitiful  eyes!  It  would 
make  a  strong  man  weak  to  remember  it. 

The  meaning  of  marriage  had  never  really 
occupied  Lucian  Beardsley's  thoughts.  Strange 
that  it  should  rise  within  him  now  even  as  the 
glorious  moon  rose  over  the  park.  Marriage  ? 
Well,  he  knew  something  of  its  semblances  and 
its  substitutes.  He  had  taken  his  pleasure  as  a 
gentleman,  with  all  discretion  and  fair  play. 
He  would  have  as  soon  thought  of  suicide  as  a 
scandal.  His  follies  had  been  a  succession  of 
emotional  flights  which  he  took  care  should 
never  sully  innocence  or  wrong  actual  trust.  One 
female  creature  who  had  become  his  partner  in 
a  co-operative  housekeeping  scheme  in  Brooklyn 
had  developed  an  unexpected  honesty,  fidelity 
and  discretion.  Her  qualities  disturbed  him  to 
the  extent  that  he  went  to  Cuba  without  the  for- 
mality of  a  farewell  and  wrote  her  from  there 
of  his  abandonment  and  a  provision  for  her. 
He  was  nearer  loneliness  for  a  month  than  ever 
before,  and  was  lonelier  than  ever  when  he  re- 


z8  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

ceived  news  of  her  death  in  a  hospital  from  a 
fever.  In  this  Kentucky  moonlight  the  wraith 
of  that  wan  woman  who  had  been  the  occupant 
of  the  flat  in  Brooklyn  came  near  to  him,  whisp- 
ered to  him  as  never  in  her  life,  bade  him  know 
strange  mysteries,  entangled  the  feet  of  his  errant 
thoughts  in  the  waves  of  her  brown  hair.  She 
had  been  humble  and  patient.  He  wondered,  if 
he  had  ever  given  her  intense  meekness  one  word 
of  real  tenderness,  what  waters  of  intense  feeling 
would  have  gushed  forth.  He  gave  her  credit 
now  for  a  host  of  qualities  he  had  denied  her  in 
life,  and  he  absolved  her  past  in  the  ocean  of 
the  last  entire  devotion  to  himself. 

The  moonlight  lay  between  two  tree  trunks, 
a  broad  shaft  of  radiance  over  his  feet.  So  had 
a  lovely  woman  been  prone  before  him  that 
morning  and  he  had  not  lifted  her  up.  Now- 
he  clenched  his  fists  at  the  very  thought  —  she 
could  be  in  worse  plights  and  he  dared  not  lift 
her  up. 

A  crashing  footstep  came  nearer.  It  was  the 
Colonel's  in  hot  haste. 

"I've  whistled  for  you  half  a  dozen  times, 
Beardsley.  You  must  have  been  asleep." 

"Sit  down,"  said  Lucian,  taking  the  cigar 
he  offered.  "Sit  down  and  drive  away  the 
ghosts.  The  night  is  full  of  them." 


CHAPTER  THREE 

THOU  HAST  NO  TONGUE  TO  TELL  WHO  MARTYRED  THEE 

MRS.  BUCKMAN  fears  that  she  has 
hurt  your  feelings,"  began  the  Ken- 
tuckian. 

"O,"  promptly  returned  Lucian  Beardsley, 
"I  do  not  mind  confessing  that  your  tolerated 
tragedy  here  has  upset  me  completely." 

"Strong  language,"  replied  the  Colonel. 
"Surely  you  have  seen  abused  mothers  and 
children  and  wives  in  your  cities  ?" 

"We  hear  of  them  in  the  proceedings  of  police 
courts  and  the  records  of  the  whipping-posts," 
said  Lucian  dryly,  "but  there  is  no  toleration 
by  a  community,  sir." 

"This  is  the  most  public  thing  that  has  ever 
happened,"  began  the  Colonel,  humbly,  "and 
he  was  particularly  savage  this  morning.  Other- 
wise, we  know  so  little  about  it  that  we  can 

only  surmise  more.  She  never  soeaks  of  it." 

29 


3o  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"What  use?"  broke  in  Lucian.  "She  spares 
herself  the  indignity  of  your  disbelief  or  your 
inaction.  Pardon  me,  but  I  am  hardly  myself." 

"We  may  not  be  active  enough,"  said  the 
other  man,  cautiously,  "but  grant  that  if  we  de- 
sire to  act,wecan  not  do  anything.  Sheishiswife." 

"  License  to  spend  her  worldly  goods,  to  hate,  to 
impoverish,  to  abuse,  to  hold  while  life  lasts;  and 
whom  the  devil  has  joined  together,  let  no  man  put 
asunder.  That's  wedlock  in  this  country,  is  it  ?" 

"Horrible!"  exclaimed  the  old  Kentuckian. 
"Mr.  Beardsley,  you  must  not  mock  at  marriage. 
I  grant  it  is  all  or  nothing  as  one  makes  it,  but 
what  goodness  exists  and  endures  in  a  man  is 
generally  put  there  by  a  good  woman.  I  feel," 
said  he,  baring  his  brow  to  the  moonlight, 
"that  I  should  always  take  off  my  own  hat  when 
I  speak  my  wife's  name  and  that  all  the  world 
should  do  the  same." 

"Amen,"  said  Lucian  heartily,  "but,  ye  gods, 
what  misfits  we  do  find!  This  travesty  on  mar- 
riage we  have  now  seen.  How  came  it  ?  Was  that 
woman  ever  in  love  with  that  man  at  his  best  ?" 

The  Colonel  waited  a  moment  and  then  re- 
plied soberly: 

"I  don't  think  that  she  was.  Hers  has  always 
been  a  peculiar  nature.  She  is  like  a  child  who 
goes  on  a  pitiful  quest  and  comes  back  without 
anything.  We  were  anxious  to  see  her  well 


CHAPTER  THREE  31 

married,  her  father  most  of  all.  Delby  DeWitt 
came  home  from  a  Pennsylvania  college  and 
set  up  a  practice.  He  was  different  from  others 
about  here,  and  Dulcie  was  quite  carried  away 
with  him.  It  was  not  a  year  after  the  marriage 
before  strange  tales  went  about.  Questioned, 
Dulcie  refused  to  say  a  word.  Her  own  father 
admired  this  silent  martyrdom,  and  he  died  be- 
seeching her  to  be  steadfast  in  it.  I  believe  it 
will  kill  her  finally,  as  it  has  killed  her  children." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  she  never  com- 
plains?" cried  Lucian,  "not  to  your  wife,  not 
to  any  one  else  who  might  give  her  a  little  con- 
solation ?  O  no,  no,  that  were  against  all  Na- 
ture!" 

"It  is  true,"  replied  the  Colonel,  much  moved. 
"She  is  strangely  enduring,  loyally  strong.  We 
were  surprised  to  hear  her  say  what  she  said 
this  morning.  It  was  wrung  from  her." 

"How  old  is  she  ?"  asked  Lucian. 

"About  twenty-seven.  She  looks  aged  by  her 
trouble.  My  wife  says  she  has  gray  hairs  already. 
My  wife  hopes  that  he  may  die,  but  I've  read 
that  opium-eaters  rarely  die  early,  though,  of 
course,  there's  cocaine  too." 

"There  is  little  hope  for  he"r,"  observed  Lu- 
cian, after  a  long  pause.  "I  offended  Mrs.  Buck- 
man  by  alluding  to  a  divorce." 

"You  could  not  offend  her  half  as  much  in 


3i  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

any  other  way,'*  replied  the  older  man.  "She 
will  not  hear  divorce  mentioned.  We  have 
enough  of  it,  God  knows,  in  our  midst,  and  yet 
I  confess  I  must  think  of  it  with  toleration  in  such 
a  case  as  Dulcie's.  I  heard  our  late  rector  say 
that  she  would  be  right  in  securing  it.  DeWitt  is 
strangely  immoral,  but  she  does  not  know  that. 
I  don't  know  who  would  tell  her,  to  add  to  her 
troubles." 

"Since  you  have  introduced  that  subject," 
said  Lucian  coolly,  "I  would  like  to  add  a  few 
bits  of  information  out  of  my  knowledge  of 
cocaine  fiends  in  the  East,  Colonel." 

When  he  stopped  his  hearer  was  pale  with 
horror  and  dismay. 

"  If  I  thought  our  little  Dulcie  -  "  he  began, 
then  he  boiled  over  with  good  honest  rage  and 
swore  like  a  trooper. 

"I'm  glad  I  have  aroused  you  from  your 
apathy,"  observed  Lucian.  "I  came  down  here 
to  buy  a  horse  and  I  have  found  a  righteous 
cause  ready  to  my  hand.  What  was  Mrs.  De- 
Witt's  maiden  name,  Colonel?" 

"Childress  —  Dulcinea  Childress,"  said  the 
Colonel. 

"Childress!"  repeated  Lucian  with  a  start. 
"  Childress  ?  Colonel,  my  grandfather's  Ken- 
*  tucky  mother  was  a  Willa  Childress." 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry! "  said  the  Colonel  slowly. 


CHAPTER  THREE  33 

Lucian's  voice  was  hoarse.  He  threw  out  all 
his  repressed  feeling  in  jerky  sentences. 

"Good  God!  That  woman  may  be  my  kins- 
woman though  far  removed.  If  you  think  I  am 
going  to  leave  Kentucky  with  the  thought  of  any 
woman  related  to  me  in  the  clutches  of  a 
demon  and  a  drug  fiend,  you  do  not  know  me 
or  my  brother  Fordyce.  Forgive  me,  Colonel. 
You  are  my  host,  but  this  thing  has  seethed  me 
all  day.  I  swear  to  you  that  this  woman,  if  she  is 
a  cousin  many  times  removed,  shall  have  in  me 
a  protector  and  a  counsellor.  I  care  nothing  for 
your  petty  county  society,  nothing  for  your  gos- 
sip, your  scandal.  I  have  the  money,  and  I  can 
buy  the  influence.  Shut  up  your  doors  to  this 
poor,  miserable  creature  if  you  will,  and,  as  you 
do  it,  I  will  free  her  from  that  man,  and  I  will 
put  any  happiness  I  can  into  her  miserable, 
wasted  life." 

He  had  risen,  and  he  stood  up  in  the  moonlight 
like  a  triumphant  god.  The  old  Colonel  sprang 
up  and  seized  his  hand.  His  eyes  were  full  of  hon- 
est tears. 

"Beardsley,  Beardsley,  don't  you  know  you 
make  me  feel  that  we  are  all  a  set  of  infernal 
cowards  and  jackanapes  ?  Yes,  you  do!" 

Lucian  Beardsley  slept  long  the  next  morning. 
Stirred  as  never  before,  his  complex  emotions  had 


34  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

exhausted  him.  He  slept  through  the  quiet  night 
hours,  the  rosy,  pearly  dawn,  the  sunrise,  the 
breakfast  time.  Mrs.  Buckman  would  not  allow 
him  to  be  disturbed.  Not  a  servant  tiptoed  over 
the  porch  that  ran  around  the  house,  not  a  foot- 
fall sounded  in  the  hallways.  She  was  glad  of 
time  to  reflect  herself,  and  she  thought  it  the  best 
wisdom  that  rest  complete  should  knit  up  the 
ravelled  sleeve  of  the  new  care  in  the  Virginian's 
mind  and  calm  his  hot  impulses.  Had  he  been  a 
mere  boy  these  would  not  have  given  her  much 
real  concern,  but  Lucian  Beardsley  was  a 
matured  man  of  the  world,  and  she  had  every 
reason  to  respect  a  man's  fixed  determinations. 

Lucian  had  fallen  asleep  thinking  of  the  Colo- 
nel's sober  words  at  the  close  of  their  conversa- 
tion: 

"You  must  not  expect  me  to  keep  this  matter 
from  my  wife,  Beardsley.  It  is  many  years  since  I 
held  back  anything  from  her.  I  could  not  do  it  if 
I  tried,  I  believe. " 

"I  do  not  ask  that,"  Lucian  had  replied,  "but 
will  it  make  any  difference  in  her  attitude  ? 
Would  she  not  concede  me  the  honest  right  to  de- 
fend a  kinswoman  ?" 

"A  thousand  times,  yes,"  replied  the  Colonel. 
"  No  one  is  more  of  a  believer  in  ties  of  blood  than 
is  Mrs.  Buckman.  If  you  are  descended  from  the 
same  stock  it  will  make  all  the  difference  in  the 


CHAPTER  THREE  35 

world.  I  advise  you  to  say  nothing  of  a  divorce  to 
my  wife  unless  she  attacks  you  on  the  subject.  If 
she  does,  you  will  understand  how  to  act.  My 
wife  has  a  high  belief  in  most  people,  and  it  is  a 
personal  sorrow  to  her  to  have  any  one  fall  below 
her  own  pure  standard." 

"I  like  to  hear  you  say  those  things,"  went  on 
Lucian.  "They  remind  me  of  certain  feelings  of 
reverence  I  once  had,  when  a  lad,  before  some  of 
the  great  pictures  and  the  stained-glass  saints  in 
Europe.  I  had  almost  frogotten  the  feeling,  but  it 
is  revived  by  your  words.  Good-night,  my  dear 
sir.'3 

He  woke  when  the  sun  was  high  in  the  heav- 
ens. At  first  he  lay  half  dozing  in  a  drowsy  lux- 
ury. The  room  was  like  a  green  bower.  All  the 
shutters  were  closed,  but  the  wind  through  the 
slats  waved  the  long  muslin  curtain-pieces  back- 
ward and  forward.  They  seemed  the  draperies  of 
fleeing  nymphs  in  a  woodland.  Once  in  a  while  a 
bird  chirped  in  the  rose  vine  outside  or  a  bee 
buzzed  up  against  the  shutters.  When  he  grew 
wider  awake  he  remembered  where  he  had  been 
yesterday  and  the  events  of  the  night.  He  felt 
creeping  over  him  a  strange  new  sensation  of  a 
realized  epoch.  He  was  not  only  all  he  had  ever 
been,  but  something  more,  some  one  who  would 
live  nearer  other  men's  lives  and  better  under- 
stand their  great  passions  and  their  great  pains. 


36  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

He  touched  the  bell  and  the  black  man  who 
came  to  prepare  his  bath  brought  him  a  cup  of 
coffee  which  reminded  Lucian  of  his  old  days  in 
France.  He  made  his  toilet  slowly,  trying  to  shape 
a  definite  action  and  at  once  begin  the  work  of 
rescue  and  alleviation.  He  decided  to  go  to  Dulcie 
at  once,  but  it  was  a  case  of  man  proposing  and 
Mrs.  Buckman  disposing.  She  was  evidently 
watching  for  his  appearance  from  the  front  door, 
for  she  came  into  the  wide  hall  as  he  came  down 
stairs,  to  bid  him  good-morning  and  ask  him  how 
he  had  slept.  It  was  very  warm,  and  she  wore  a 
white  gown  as  simple  as  that  of  a  child.  There 
was  a  quiet  calmness  in  her  eyes  that  belied  the 
Colonel's  twinkle.  He  greeted  Lucian  from  his 
Shaker  rocker  at  one  side  of  the  porch  table. 
At  his  side  stood  a  tall  glass  of  mint  julep,  and 
all  the  ingredients  for  this  fragrant  beverage  were 
before  him. 

"You've  come  just  in  time,"  called  out  the 
Colonel.  "Sit  down  and  Mrs.  Buckman  shall 
make  you  the  finest  julep  in  Kentucky.  You  can 
stand  it  after  your  coffee.  Dinner  will  soon  be 
ready  and,  after  that,  you  and  I  are  going  to  take 
a  neat  little  drive  of  sixteen  miles  across  the 
country,  sir." 

Lucian  took  the  chair  at  the  railing  and 
watched  the  fragile  little  hands  of  the  mistress 
of  the  house  go  fluttering  skilfully  about  over 


CHAPTER  THREE  37 

shaved  ice  and  crushed  mint,  sugar,  lemon  and 
the  cut-glass  decanters  of  old  Kentucky  whisky. 
It  amused  him  to  remember  with  what  horror 
some  of  her  own  sex  would  regard  these  pretty 
services,  how  she  would  be  condemned  for  them 
and  blamed  in  some  rigid  circles  of  that  outer 
world  of  which  she  had  so  little  knowledge.  He 
testified  to  the  merits  of  the  julep  in  warm  terms 
a  few  moments  later.  Here  was  a  woman  to 
study.  She  believed  in  a  personal  devil,  would 
hear  nothing  of  divorce,  but  she  mixed  a  julep 
that  would  coax  a  saint  out  of  Paradise. 

"We  all  are  going  over  to  look  at  Manifold's 
fine  colts  this  afternoon, "  said  the  Colonel  in  his 
most  genial  manner,  "and  as  Peter  Manifold 
married  Nancy  Childress,  a  second  cousin  of 
Mrs.  DeWitt's,  it  is  quite  as  well  that  we  make 
some  inquiries  there.  Mrs.  Buckman  thinks  that 
Nancy  had  some  old  documents  and  letters 
that  will  likely  help  you  to  prove  your  ances- 
try." 

Lucian  flushed. 

"I  am  sorry  I  am  among  such  strangers  that 
my  word  requires  proof,"  he  said  in  his  most 
spirited  manner. 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,  man!"  cried  the  Colonel.  "You 
want  the  real  proof  yourself,  don't  you  ?  There 
used  to  be  several  branches  of  the  Childress 
family  about  here  and  one  or  two  people  of  the 


jg  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

name  who  were  no  relation  whatever  to  any  of 
the  old  lot.  As  I  say,  Peter  will  surely  let  us  see 
those  letters  and  old  things  that  Nancy's  father 
left  her.  Peter  would  not  let  Dulcie  have  the  pa- 
pers after  Nancy  died.  You  see,  Dulcie  and  Nan- 
cy didn't  agree. " 

"This  Nancy  Childress  is  dead  ?" 

"Three  years.  Peter  is  married  again.  His  last 
wife  has  real  good  sense  and  was  educated  at  Mil- 
lersburg.  I  like  Kitty  May  myself. " 

"I  had  made  another  plan,"  began  the 
younger  man.  He  saw  a  look  pass  between  the 
husband  and  wife,  one  as  quick  as  lightning. 

"I  want  you  to  go  over  there,"  continued  the 
Colonel  easily,  "because  it  will  probably  settle 
the  question  as  to  whether  you  can  claim  any  kin 
to  Mrs.  DeWitt.  We  don't  want  you  to  go  to  see 
her  until  we  are  sure  you  are  right,  Beardsley. " 

Lucian  flushed  and  then  waited  to  recover 
himself. 

"There  is  some  justice  in  that  desire  of  yours. 
I  am  willing  to  go  with  you,  but,  after  that,  I 
must  be  allowed  my  own  will,  especially  as  I 
shall  soon  leave  your  hospitable  roof.  I  may  have 
to  do  some  things  that  will  not  please  our  gentle 
lady  here,  and  so  I  cannot  courteously  remain  for 
even  the  time  I  had  promised." 

Mrs.  Buckman  folded  her  hands  again  and 
there  came  a  delicate  flush  on  her  cheek. 


CHAPTER  THREE  39 

"I  know.  If  you  come  back  from  over  the 
river  with  the  knowledge  that  Mrs.  DeWitt  is 
your  kinswoman,  you  intend  to  see  her  and  to 
make  it  all  known  to  her,"  she  said  a  little  un- 
steadily. 

"I  certainly  intend  so  to  do,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Buckman." 

"  In  that  case  I  want  you  to  see  her  here,  with 
me.  I  believe  in  Dulcie.  She  has  been  wonder- 
fully upheld  in  many  ways.  I  believe  —  indeed, 
I  do  hope  that  she  will  resist  you  and  all  your 
offers,  Mr.  Beardsley." 

In  all  his  life  Lucian  Beardsley  had  never  met 
such  unqualified  defiance  as  now  blazed  forth  in 
Susan  Buckman's  large  eyes.  They  were  like 
cold,  bluish  steel.  A  fierce,  unreasoning  obsti- 
nacy, shook  him,  but  he  bowed  his  head. 

"You  do  me  honour,  Mrs.  Buckman.  I  hardly 
know  what  sort  of  a  foeman  I  might  make.  You 
may  be  right,  but  still  I  shall  make  the  effort  to 
induce  my  kinswoman  to  cease  this  useless  self- 
sacrifice  and  suicidal  martyrdom." 

Mrs.  Buckman  began  to  gather  up  the  glasses 
with  the  cool  reply: 

"  It  may  be,  Mr.  Beardsley,  that  you  will  dis- 
cover no  kinship.  That  would  delight  me  greatly, 
as  then  you  would  have  no  excuse  to  take  up  her 
cause." 

"None   whatever,"    replied   Lucian   quietly, 


40  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"  unless  it  was  a  desire  to  save  a  fellow-mortal  — 
a  woman  at  that  —  from   so   much    pain   and 
misery." 

The  Colonel  rose  quickly,  relieved  at  the 
sound  of  the  silvery  bell  in  the  hall. 

"Dinner,  dinner!  I  know  our  guest  is  hungry. 
I  wish  DeWitt  was  ten  feet  deep  in  yonder  grave- 
yard, for  my  part,  yes,  I  do!" 

The  meal  was  eaten  with  a  careful  avoidance 
of  dangerous  topics.  An  hour  later  the  Colonel 
and  his  guest  were  hurrying  across  the  country 
behind  two  blooded  mares.  Lucian's  spirits  rose 
with  the  rapid  drive  down  green  lanes,  over  good 
and  bad  turnpikes,  narrow  dirt  cross-cuts  and 
through  the  swift  river  at  a  ford  that  the  mares 
did  not  at  all  fancy.  It  was  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  when  they  drove  into  Peter  Manifold's 
farm  lane  and  stopped  before  a  two-story  wooden 
house  with  broad  galleries  running  completely 
around  both  stories.  Climbing  roses  embowered 
the  house  and  yellow  honeysuckle  mingled  with 
them  and  scented  all  the  air.  There  seemed  to  be 
half  a  hundred  dogs  about,  and  they  all  came  for- 
ward to  bark  very  joyously  at  the  strangers. 

A  coloured  man,  strangely  sad  of  face,  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  sweating  mares.  Their  host  ap- 
peared at  an  opening  in  the  vines.  He  was  tall, 
lank,  sweet  of  voice  and  gentle  in  manner.  He 

*  O 

welcomed  them  as  though  they  had  been  long 


CHAPTER  THREE  41 

expected,  and  Lucian  Beardsley  could  not  have 
believed  that  here  was  a  man  who  would  hold 
back  from  Dulcie  DeWitt  the  meagre  records  of 
her  ancestry. 

The  guests  were  established  in  wooden  rockers 
on  the  lower  gallery  and  supplied  with  palm-leaf 
fans. 

"We  want  to  see  your  colts,  Peter,"  began  the 
Colonel,  after  a  social  chat,  "but  first  thing  of 
all,  this  gentleman  here  is  of  the  opinion  that 
his  great-grandmother  was  a  Childress  of  your 
wife  Nancy's  branch.  He  is  out  here  from  New 
York,  and  is  studying  out  his  own  pedigree  on 
the  side  while  buying  good  horses.  Can't  you 
all  show  him  those  old  letters  and  small  tricks 
that  Nancy  had  and  set  such  store  by  ?" 

"Just  wait  a  minute,  Colonel,"  broke  in 
Lucian.  "If  Mr.  Manifold  has  anything  of 
importance  to  me,  he  can  name  his  price  for 
it  if  he  wants  money." 

Peter  was  plainly  puzzled. 

"Nancy  never  did  want  Dulcinea  DeWitt  to 
have  those  things  just  because  she  wanted  them 
so  much.  You  all  don't  want  them  for  her,  do 
you,  Colonel  ? " 

" I  do  not  know  her,"  promptly  replied  Lucian 
to  spare  the  Colonel;  "this  quest  is  all  in  my  own 
interests.  My  great-grandfather  married  a  Willa 
Childress,  here  in  Kentucky,  about  1800." 


42  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"Well,  Pll  just  stir  up  Kitty  May,"  said  the 
Kentuckian,  retreating  into  the  house.  Kitty  May 
presently  appeared.  She  had  hurriedly  put  her- 
self into  one  of  her  boarding-school  gowns,  and, 
as  Kitty  May  was  now  much  stouter  than  in  her 
maiden  days,  it  looked  to  the  Virginian  as  if  it 
must  fly  wide  apart  if  Kitty  May  breathed  or 
laughed  naturally.  But  Kitty  May  was  still  very 
young  and  very  pretty,  and  she  had  with  her  a 
diminutive  infant  in  long  clothes  that  so  dis- 
tracted her  mind  from  the  ordinary  affairs  of 
life  that  it  was  some  time  before  she  could  be 
brought  to  understand  just  what  was  wanted 
of  her. 

"Those  old  letters  and  tricks  of  Nancy's? 
Law,  Colonel,  did  you  all  see  the  baby's  chin 
dimple  ?  Those  old  things  ?  Let  me  see.  I  haven't 
seen  them  since  the  baby  came  —  nor  a  long 
time  before.  They  must  be  in  that  closet  in  the 
front  room  up-stairs.  Go  get  them,  Peter.  I  don't 
like  to  leave  Eustace  a  single  minute.  Now,  Colo- 
nel, I  always  said  to  Peter,  'You  all  are  doing  a 
mighty  small  thing  to  keep  those  few  tricks  from 
Dulcie  DeWitt.  Dulcie's  got  more  trouble  than 
any  one,  and  do  let  her  have  'em.'  Pd  have  sent 
them  to  her,  Colonel,  only  Peter  swore  that 
Nancy  would  get  up  out  of  her  grave  after  him, 
and  I  didn't  want  to  be  badly  scared  while  I  was 
nursing  baby.  It  might  hurt  him,  you  know." 


CHAPTER  THREE  43 

All  this  was  said  with  a  most  charming  and  in- 
nocent air.  Lucian  felt  his  heart  go  out  to  her 
when  she  spoke  of  the  woman  in  whose  fate  he 
had  already  become  interested.  It  was  plainly  to 
be  seen  that  Kitty  May  was  the  queen  of  the 
Manifold  domain.  Peter  at  once  went  up  the 
outside  stairs  at  her  bidding,  while  an  obsequious 
young  coloured  girl  stood  before  her  mistress's 
chair  and  fanned  her  proudly. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight,  this  fair  young  moth- 
er and  her  tiny  infant.  She  caressed  its  rose- 
leaf  hands  and  smiled  above  it  like  a  happy 
child. 

"Peter's  old  nurse,  Mammy  Reba,  is  mighty 
jealous  because  I  must  have  baby  all  to  myself, 
Colonel.  I  say  to  her  how  could  any  one  give  up 
such  a  sweet  thing  ?  I  don't  know  what  I  would 
do  with  my  time  if  I'd  let  her  nurse  it.  I  would 
eat  my  heart  right  out  looking  on. " 

Peter  descended  the  stairs  empty-handed. 

"Now  where  are  those  things?"  demanded 
his  small  spouse. 

"There's  no  sign  of  them  in  that  old  cup- 
board," retorted  Peter,  aggrieved.  "I  nevah  did 
see  such  mess  of  traps,  anyhow. " 

Kitty  May's  eyes  flashed  fire. 

"Peter,  I  believe  you  are  afraid  that  Nancy 
will  rise  on  you.  I'm  not  afraid  of  ghosts.  I'll  get 
that  box  and  you  all  had  just  better  send  it 


44  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

over  to  Dulcie  De  Witt  by  the  Colonel.  We  cer- 
tainly have  got  old  plunder  enough  around 
without  that. " 

She  handed  the  baby  to  the  young  girl,  caught 
up  her  blue  silk  gown  and  ran  lightly  up  the 
stairs.  In  a  short  time  she  ran  down,  breathless, 
but  with  an  old  black  box  tied  up  with  cord  and 
shoestrings. 

She  stood  before  Lucian,  laughing  gaily. 

"  I  guess  you  all  are  the  only  one  left  who  has 
any  right  to  open  this  box,"  she  exclaimed.  "I'll 
say  you  all  shall  open  it,  anyhow." 

The  two  cut  and  untied  strings  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, then  Lucian  lifted  the  lid  with  a  feeling  of 
awe  and  wonder. 

A  packet  of  yellow,  time-stained  letters  lay 
there,  an  old  leather  wallet,  a  tiny  French  Testa- 
ment with  the  covers  eaten  away  by  insects,  a  cu- 
rious medal  from  some  religious  order,  battered 
and  bitten,  its  letters  illegible  save  part  of  a 
phrase,  "le  bon  Dieu. " 

"A  tin  penny!"  cried  Kitty  May.  "Not  a  thing 
worth  while!" 

Lucian  looked  into  the  wallet.  There  were  sev- 
eral strands  of  hair  braided  together  —  black, 
brown,  golden,  and  all  tied  with  worn  bits  of  rib- 
bon. There  was  a  folded  paper,  yellow  and  brown 
spotted  and  also  worn  at  the  edges.  It  was  a  sort 
of  family  record  of  the  American  branch  of  the 


CHAPTER  THREE  45 

Childress  family  and  kept  up  in    a  half-dozen 
handwritings. 

Lucian's  heart  rose  in  his  mouth.  Crudely  put 
together,  here  was  a  priceless  treasure.  Here  was 
the  truth  of  time : 

Bogardus  et  Huon  Childress  out  of  France,  1749.  Bo- 
gardus  dwelt  alone  in  ye  boundless  wilderness  six  years. 
Huon  dwelt  in  South  Carolina  more  than  six  years.  An 
Indian  had  dwelt  with  Bogardus  raised  in  ye  deep  wilder- 
ness, baptized  to  be  his  own  son  and  heir,  he  being  a  man 
unwed.  Huon  followed  his  brother  in  six  years  with  Blanch- 
flor  his  wife,  six  children,  to-wit,  Blanch,  Clotaire,  Fidele, 
Remy,  Anselm,  Aime'e.  Of  these  all  did  die  save  Blanchflor 
and  Remy. 

Here  the  writing  changed  to  one  feminine: 

Remy  wed  with  Mary  Wren  after  the  War  of  the  Colo- 
nies with  England  sent  men  and  women  over  the  moun- 
tains. Before  this  time  Bogardus  Childress,  the  Indian  son 
of  Bogardus,  wed  with  Blanchflor,  the  daughter  of  Huon. 
Of  Bogardus  Childress  and  Blanchflor  Childress  came 
Stephan  and  Willa  Childress.  Of  Remy  one  son,  to-wit, 
Adelbert. 

Then  another  hand  had  written  plainly: 

Stephan  Childress  wed  one  Gertrude  de  Heath  ;  Willa 
Childress,  one  Fordyce  Beardsley,  of  Virginia.  She  died  in 
childbirth,  leaving  a  male  child,  Fordyce,  whose  record  is 
lost. 

Of  Remy  Childress's  heirs,  they  are  scattered  widely 
and  we  know  nothing. 

Of  Stephan  Childress's  heirs,  there  are  his  son  Gilbert,  of 


46  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

whose  heirs  there  are:  Salome,  Hertzel  and  Philip  Carleton 
Childress  and  Guy  Childress.  The  Hertzel  record  has  not 
been  established,  but  Philip  Carleton  Childress  had  many 
children,  to-wit :  Charles  Louis,  Stephan,  Gilbert  and  Dul- 
cinea  DeWitt.  None  there  are  living  but  the  daughter. 
God  took  the  sons  when  children.  Guy  Childress  had  heirs, 
one  Leroy  who  died  in  California,  and  Nancy  Manifold. 

This  record,  though  in  different  handwritings, 
was  clear  and  plain.  Lucian  handed  it  over  to 
Colonel  Buckman  and  turned  to  Peter,  trembling 
in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  be  calm. 

"That  record  is  worth  thousands  of  dollars  to 
me.  Will  you  sell  it?" 

Peter  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  stared 
at  the  stranger  without  replying.  Kitty  May  had 
turned  again  to  the  baby  who  was  still  in  the  arms 
of  the  nurse,  but  making  purposeless  and  ineffec- 
tual plunges  at  his  mother,  while  ecstatic  smiles 
hovered  about  his  tiny  mouth.  Kitty  was  in  rap- 
tures. She  forgot  everything. 

"Those  papers  do  look  all  right,"  pronounced 
the  Colonel,  after  a  scrutiny.  "I  guess  you've 
found  about  what  you  wanted.  Funny  thing  how 
that  old  wallet  has  held  together.  I  wonder 
whose  hair  that  is  ?" 

"We  may  be  able  to  determine  later,"  ob- 
served Lucian,  still  much  moved.  "Colonel,  this 
means  a  great  deal  to  me.  My  great-grandfather 
was  this  very  Fordyce  Beardsley,  you  under- 


CHAPTER  THREE  47 

stand.  It  seems  like  a  dream.  His  son  was  my  own 
grandfather  who  visited  Kentucky  when  about 
my  age.  He  learned  some  of  the  family  history 
then,  but  if  he  had  only  known  of  this  record,  it 
would  have  been  a  sacred  duty  to  him  to  have 
found  it." 

"Clear  as  water,"  pronounced  the  Colonel. 
I  knew  Philip  Childress,  Dulcie's  father.  He 
was  a  great  deal  like  an  Indian  himself  in  some 
ways:  He  could  endure  more  and  keep  stiller 
than  any  man  I  ever  saw.  Why,"  continued  the 
Colonel,  his  eyes  flashing,  "he  was  wounded  at 
Chickamauga,  and,  by  the  Lord,  Beardsley,  he 
sat  on  his  mare  until  the  blood  followed  his  path. 
We  all  had  to  pull  him  ofF,  sir,  to  make  him  go 
to  the  rear.  That's  Indian.  Dulcie's  like  him. 
That's  where  she  gets  her  endurance.  Blood  will 
tell." 

A  wave  of  feeling  swept  over  the  younger  man. 
He  gazed  dumbly  at  the  black  box  and  the  letters. 
At  that  moment  Peter  Manifold  recovered  from 
his  amazement  enough  to  drawl  out  in  his  sing- 
ularly sweet  voice: 

"You  ofFah  a  thousand  dollahs  for  the  lettahs, 
sir?" 

"I  do,"  replied  Lucian  promptly. 

There  was  then  a  strange  sound  that  made 
them  all  turn.  Kitty  May  had  made  a  sudden 
spring  at  the  group.  Her  blue  gown  could  not 


48  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

stand  the  strain  and  burst  several  hooks  and 
eyes.  Kitty  May  ran  back  and  snatched  up  the 
babe  to  shield  her,  pressing  its  yellow,  downy 
head  against  her  panting  bosom. 

"Sell  those  things,  Peter?"  she  said,  in  a 
withering  voice.  "Sell  them  ?  Well,  I  think  not." 

Colonel  Buckman  drew  his  breath  with  a 
queer,  inaudible  chuckle.  Peter  looked  fright- 
ened. 

"Now,  Colonel,"  began  the  pretty,  flushed 
creature,  "you  all  know  we  Mays  are  square 
folks.  We  forgot  to  keep  our  pedigrees,  and  I 
don't  suppose  your  wife  will  ever  forget  my  larks 
and  pranks  at  the  church  picnics.  Law,  don't 
you  get  red,  Colonel!  I  was  only  enjoying  myself 
and  I  never  could  keep  the  boys  away.  But  we 
Mays  are  square.  Eustace's  pa  is  never  going  to 
sell  those  things  to  any  New  Yorker,  if  he's  lined 
with  money.  I  haven't  a  thing  against  you,"  she 
added,  turning  to  the  stranger.  "You  may  be  a 
Childress  or  anybody  else,  but  no  one  is  going 
to  carry  those  little  tricks  out  of  this  house  —  ex- 
cept to  Dulcie  DeWitt  —  with  my  consent. " 

"They  are  not  yours,"  cried  Peter,  wrathfully. 
"They  were  Nance's!  They  aren't  yours  at  all. " 

"Nance  is  dead  or  I  wouldn't  be  here,"  re- 
torted Kitty  May.  "She  is  dead  and,  if  she  is  in 
Heaven,  she  is  probably  wishing  she  had  made  it 
up  with  Dulcie.  Angels  haven't  got  any  mean 


CHAPTER  THREE  49 

feelings.  As  for  her  rising  up,  which  I'm  bound 
to  say  you  are  mortal  afraid  she'll  do,  Peter,  she 
surely  will  rise  if  you  pass  those  things  on  to  a 
pure  stranger.  I  just  won't  have  that  thing  told  on 
you,  Peter.  We'll  drop  the  whole  matter  like  it 
was  lead,  and  the  Colonel  '11  pack  that  stuff  over 
to  Dulcie  with  your  compliments  as  a  gentle- 
man." 

"I  won't  do  it!"  declared  Peter,  very  red  in 
the  face.  "Women  are  a  deuce  of  a  business,  in- 
terfering like  this.  Befoah  a  stranger,  too.  What 
will  he  think  of  Kentucky  women  aftah  this, 
Kitty  May?" 

Kitty  May  laughed  in  his  face. 

"  He'll  think  the  men  would  be  a  mighty  poor 
lot  without  them,  won't  he  ?  If  you  won't  send 
the  stuff,  I  will.  Just  carry  it  along,  Colonel 
Buckman.  I  can  trust  you  all.  Tell  Dulcie  De- 
Witt,  Mr.  Peter  Manifold  sends  it,  and  he 
hopes  the  hard  feeling  is  over  for  all  time.  And 
just  tell  her,  too,  that  Mrs.  Manifold  would  like 
to  have  her  come  over  and  see  the  baby  real 
soon. " 

The  fat  and  red-faced  Colonel  looked  at  Peter. 
He  gave  in  very  reluctantly  and  like  an  obstinate 
child. 

"I  don't  suppose  I'd  have  any  peace,  gentle- 
men, if  I  kept  them,"  he  said,  "but  Nance  was 
against  it  to  the  day  of  her  death." 


So  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"She  isn't  bossing  things  on  the  place  now," 
observed  Kitty  May,  with  a  beaming  smile,"  and 
you'll  feel  real  good  over  this  to-morrow,  dear. 
Mammy  Reba  says  the  best  way  to  lay  '  harnts' 
is  to  plumb  defy  'em  and  they'll  quit  you.  I  never 
do  see  any  myself. " 

"  Let  us  go  look  at  the  colts,  Colonel, "  broke 
in  Lucian.  "I  hope  to  be  able,  some  way,  to  put 
my  name  to  a  check  for  Mr.  Manifold. " 

The  Colonel  almost  tumbled  down  the  steps 
he  was  so  pleased. 

"  I  hope  you  all  will  be  able  to  buy  something 
in  Kentucky,"  he  shouted  with  laughter,  "but 
it  seems  that  you've  got  the  women  against  you. 
Come  on,  dear  fellow,  and  let  us  hunt  a  colt  with 
a  pedigree  longer  than  your  own." 

Peter  had  lingered  a  moment,  and  Lucian, 
looking  backward,  saw  Kitty  May  give  him  a 
warm  kiss  ere  she  pushed  him  away  from  her. 

"Your  women,  collectively,  are  most  puzzling, 
Colonel, "  he  observed ;  "  it  will  be  a  relief  to  take 
my  mind  from  them  and  put  it  on  the  colts  —  if 
I  can." 

"I'll  back  them  up  against  the  whole  world!" 
cried  the  Colonel,  "both  the  Kentucky  women 
and  the  Kentucky  colts!" 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

SHE  IS  MY  GOODS,  MY  CHATTELS 

AN  hour  later  a  slim  negro  lad  shyly  ap- 
proached Mr.  Peter  Manifold  sitting  up- 
on a  feed  box  in  an  open  stable-shed  and 
announced  supper  in  a  decidedly  frightened  voice. 
Mr.  Manifold  had  recovered  his  usual  cheer- 
fulness. He  had  sold  Mr.  Lucian  Beardsley  a 
fine  black  saddle  horse  at  a  generous  figure.  The 
three  men  were  now  watching  the  grooming  of 
the  horse  for  his  departure.  Colonel  Buckman 
declared  that  they  could  easily  take  him  with 
them,  ride  and  lead.  Lucian  Beardsley  was 
calmed  down,  feeling  that  he  had  made  full  rec- 
ompense to  Mr.  Manifold  in  the  price  of  the 
horse.  He  walked  about  among  the  stable-men, 
scattering  coin  and  much  enjoying  their  admira- 
tion and  homage.  These  country  negroes  inter- 
ested him  far  more  than  any  coloured  people  he 
had  seen  in  cities.  In  their  dark  faces  there  was  a 

51 


5i  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

strange  and  pathetic  appeal  he  could  not  over- 
look. So  he  sought  to  answer  it  by  bestowing  in- 
discriminate charity,  and  enjoyed  the  "Lawd  do 
bress  ye,  massa!"  which  seemed  fervent  and 
spontaneous. 

It  was  evident  that  Kitty  May  had  not  been 
idle  while  they  were  absent.  A  table  set  in  the 
large  and  bare  dining-room  fairly  groaned  with 
an  intemperate  hospitality.  There  were  great 
platters  of  fried  chicken,  a  sweet  hot  bread 
that  melted  in  the  mouth,  potato  puffs,  jellies, 
pickles,  salads,  preserves,  cakes,  strawberries  of 
a  size  that  made  Lucian  stare,  and  home-made 
ice-cream.  For  drinks  they  had  coffee,  iced  tea 
and  iced  claret.  Mr.  Peter  Manifold  explained  to 
Colonel  Buckman  that  Kitty  May  had  demanded 
an  ice-house  the  year  before,  and  had  herself  su- 
perintended the  cutting  from  the  creek  and  the 
filling  of  the  house  during  the  past  winter. 

"Law!  It  gave  the  niggers  a  job  of  work," 
cried  Kitty  May  from  the  head  of  the  table,  "  and 
they  have  to  work  hard.  I  don't  want  to  see  them 
around  starving  and  doing  nothing.  Give  them 
work,  I  say.  Then  it's  most  comforting  to  us  to 
have  the  ice." 

Sensible,  sweet  little  mind.  It  went  straight  to 
the  root  of  all  evils  and  tried  to  remedy  them. 
This  was  another  type  of  Kentucky  woman,  a 
wholesome  one  that  needed  little  culture  to  grasp 


CHAPTER  FOUR  53 

the  issues  of  the  day  and  to  see  the  work  that  lay 
to  hand.  Lucian  Beardsley  saw  clearly  what 
manner  of  man  Eustace  might  become  with  a 
heritage  of  such  common-sense,  courage,  and 
high  honour. 

He  wondered  if  Dulcie  was  such  a  woman. 
Surely,  he  was  setting  forth  to  defend  a  will-o'-the 
wisp.  She  was  not  as  pretty  as  Kitty  May,  prob- 
ably never  had  been,  but  she  had  a  certain 
beauty  intangible,  a  charm,  a  fascination,  that 
little  Mrs.  Manifold  did  not  have  and  could  not 
appreciate.  He  remembered  a  scene  in  a  French 
theatre  when  a  regally  beautiful  woman  had  been 
scorned  by  listless  applause  and  hired  encores, 
and  that,  after  her,  a  shy,  unformed  girl  slipped 
from  the  wings  and  stood  suddenly  before  them 
-  and  that  something,  something  in  her  level 
outlook,  her  personality,  had  gone  straight  to  the 
hearts  of  men  so  that  the  applause  began  and  rose 
and  continued  ere  she  spoke  or  moved.  Her's 
was  men's  beauty,  the  "beauty  of  the  devil,"  and 
poor  Dulcie  DeWitt  also  had  it,  even  though  now 
she  was  like  a  flower  with  a  worm  at  its  heart. 

It  was  well  towards  dusk  ere  they  were  ready  for 
their  return  trip.  The  dancing  mares  were  scat- 
tering the  gravel  on  the  roadway,  the  sad-faced 
negro  was  holding  the  black  horse.  Lucian 
thought  he  would  ride  a  part  of  the  way  at  least, 
and  he  vaulted  into  the  saddle  after  the  most 


54  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

courteous  of  farewells  to  Kitty  May.  The  Colonel, 
got  into  the  buggy,  but  no  word  was  spoken  of  the 
black  box.  They  were  out  of  sight  of  the  house 
before  he  dared  to  question  the  Colonel. 

"Did  she  give  you  the  letters,  Colonel  ?" 

The  Colonel  took  his  cigar  from  his  lips  and 
laughed. 

"O  yes,  my  dear,  good  fellow!  I  can  kick  the 
box  with  my  heel  now.  Trust  Mistress  Kitty  May. 
She  is  always  a  woman  of  her  word. " 

"She  is  delicious!"  acquiesced  Lucian.  "I 
really  feel  thankful  that  she  is  Mrs.  Manifold.  I 
do  not  think  I  could  hold  out  against  Kitty  May 
should  she  lay  siege  to  me. " 

"Siege  to  you!"  roared  the  Colonel.  "From 
what  heathen  lands  do  you  come  ?  She  was  simply 
the  talk  of  the  county  with  all  the  men  after  her. 
I  don't  see  how  Manifold  got  her.  I  don't  believe 
he  knows  himself.  She  is  the  best  wife  in  the 
world  to  him.  He's  got  a  latent  lung  complaint 
and  will  probably  leave  her  a  young  widow. " 

"Ye  gods!"  cried  Lucian.  "And  then,  and 
then?" 

The  Colonel  roared  with  merriment  again. 

"  Beardsley,  we  have  got  a  great  many  wonder- 
ful things  in  our  state  besides  our  politics  and 
our  Mammoth  Cave.  I  believe  I  agree  with 
statesmen  and  common  people  when  I  say 
that  the  most  wonderful  is  the  Kentucky 


CHAPTER  FOUR  55 

widow.  Our  women  are  gay  young  girls,  but  not 
reckless.  Our  wives  are  unsurpassed  and  sel- 
dom fickle.  Our  widows  are  beyond  conception, 
sir,  beyond  conception  and  description!" 

"I  am  deeply  interested,"  exclaimed  Lucian, 
his  eyes  dancing. 

"Our  widows,  Mr.  Beardsley,  have  the  charm 
of  the  reticent  maid,  with  the  knowledge  of  the 
loving  wife.  They  have  read  the  one  man  well, 
and  have  the  key  to  all  others.  They  consider 
homage  their  right,  they  are  gay,  with  a  suspicion 
of  daring  —  and  —  and,  sir,  they  can  take  care 
of  themselves  on  all  occasions. " 

"This  is  the  woman's  kingdom,"  quoth  the 
Virginian.  "I  have  given  women  more  thought 
in  one  day  since  I  came  into  Kentucky  than  in 
my  whole  life  before,  sir. " 

With  such  converse  they  took  their  way  home- 
ward. They  passed  swiftly  through  the  magical 
twilight.  Lucian's  mount  was  a  happiness  to  him. 
Never  before  had  he  so  enjoyed  a  ride.  The  Colo- 
nel gave  him  sage  advice  about  his  riding  and 
the  care  of  a  good  horse.  They  crossed  at  the  ford 
while  it  was  yet  light  enough  to  see  the  way, 
which  the  Colonel  knew  by  the  location  of  trees 
upon  the  bank.  After  an  hour  or  two  Lucian 
went  into  the  buggy  with  the  Colonel  and  led  his 
purchase  by  a  long  strap.  This  gave  them  a  bet- 
ter opportunity  to  talk. 


56  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"You  have  certainly  established  your  kinship 
to  Dulcie,"  said  the  Colonel,  "and  do  you  still 
think  you  will  see  her  and  endeavour  to  influence 
her  to  leave  DeWitt  ?  Do  not  answer  if  you  do  not 
wish  to.  I  want  you  to  remember  that  you  will 
take  a  great  responsibility  if  you  do. " 

"I  think  I  shirk  a  greater  one  if  I  do  not.  See 
here,  Colonel,  I  do  not  want  to  dispute  with  you 
on  any  subject,  least  of  all  on  this  one.  I  want  to 
try  to  do  this  thing  fairly  and  honestly.  You  must 
allow  me  to  meet  my  cousin,  we  will  say,  at  your 
house,  and  very  soon,  perhaps  to-morrow.  Mrs. 
Buckman  can  be  present,  and  she  can  plead  with 
her.  I  will  not  even  state  my  case.  I  will  simply 
ask  her  if  I  can  help  her  to  be  any  happier.  That's 
fair  enough,  isn't  it  ?" 

The  Colonel  sighed. 

"My  wife  will  be  in  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
about  it.  She  is  a  person  of  the  strongest  con- 
victions. She  keeps  all  our  rectors  to  the  rigid 
path  of  duty,  yet  she  is  their  warmest  supporter, 
financially  as  well  as  morally.  The  one  we  have 
now  is  too  meek  and  she  resents  that." 

"A  former  rector  is  the  one  who  pitied  my 
cousin  so  much,  was  he  not  ?"  asked  Lucian. 

"Yes.  He  was  much  interested  and  too  lib- 
eral in  his  ideas.  However,  there  was  other  trou- 
ble, and  after  he  made  up  his  mind  to  go 
to  a  Virginia  parish,  he  spoke  too  much  about 


CHAPTER  FOUR  57 

it  and   deeply    offended    the    conservative    ele- 
ment. " 

"Mrs.  Buckman  is,  without  doubt,  a  great 
power  in  the  congregation,"  observed  Lucian. 
He  was  sounding  the  depths  now. 

"Yes,  indeed.  They  cannot  run  on  without 
her.  Some  one  has  to  be  the  motive  power  in  the 
parish.  They  tell  a  good  story  on  one  of  our  rec- 
tors, an  English  importation.  He  was  an  ass, 
Beardsley.  None  of  us  were  good  enough  for  him. 
When  you  see  our  church  you  will  notice  our  fine 
pulpit.  It  was  carved  by  an  artist  in  the  East,  and 
the  ladies  bought  it,  and  are  very  proud  of  it. 
Now,  this  Rev.  Buthric  Symes  was  a  very  small 
man,  and  his  nose  barely  reached  over  the  pulpit. 
While  they  were  trimming  the  church  for  Christ- 
mas one  year,  this  man  came  into  the  chancel.  A 
wreath  of  holly  had  been  placed  about  the  pulpit 
top. 

'I  won't  be  able  to  see  over  that  at  all,'  he 
said  to  my  wife;  'that  pulpit  is  too  high  anyhow. 
It  ought  to  be  cut  down  or  the  church  buy  a  new 
one.' 

"Mrs.  Buckman  was  making  a  wreath  near 
him,  and  she  spoke  right  up: 

"Do  you  think  so  ?  I  think  it  would  be  much 
easier  to  get  a  new  rector.' " 

Lucian  laughed  at  the  story,  but  with  a  pang. 
This  was  the  woman  who  would  bid  his  newly- 


58  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

found  cousin  defy  his  kind   intentions.    Again 
there  swept  over  him  the  wave  of  defiance. 

"She  will  say  that  is  the  *  devil's  thought,'  ' 
he  murmured."  "Well,  I  will  not  let  the  thing 
alone.  My  course  can  be  as  stubborn  as  her  own. 

"  I  will  ask  to  meet  Mrs.  DeWitt  in  her  pres- 
ence," he  said  aloud,  "and  after  that  I  will  go 
forward  alone." 

"You  do  not  mean  to  go  away  from  here, 
then?" 

"Never  —  until  this  question  is  settled.  I  shall 
find  a  lodging  and  arrange  myself  for  a  stay. 
Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day.  I  can  stay." 

The  moon  rose  while  they  were  still  an  hour's 
ride  from  their  destination.  The  Colonel  hesitated 
at  a  crossroads. 

"Since  the  moon  is  so  well  up  we  can  cut  right 
through  here.  This  brings  us  up  back  of  the  De- 
Witt  house,  and  if  any  one  is  up,  I  can  leave  the 
box." 

They  came  out,  at  length,  into  a  long  lane 
which,  passing  through  dense  woods,  turned 
suddenly  into  a  way  between  thick  orchards  and 
wide  fields. 

"This  is  Glen  Farm,"  said  the  Colonel ;" yon- 
der is  the  DeWitt  house. " 

A  white  cottage  sat  upon  a  knoll.  In  the  moon- 
light its  gallery,  overhanging  a  creek  bed,  was 
plainly  visible.  They  were  driving  rapidly  to- 


CHAPTER  FOUR  59 

wards  it  when  the  mares  sniffed  uneasily  and 
shied  once  or  twice.  Lucian's  saddle-horse  shared 
the  same  reluctance  to  push  forward,  and  balked. 

"Funny  that  their  dogs  do  not  give  cry,"  said 
the  Colonel  uneasily;  "they've  got  enough  of 
them  about." 

Lucian  pointed  suddenly  with  his  whip  at 
half  a  dozen  huddled  hounds,  skulking  in  the 
grass  at  the  side  of  the  road  and  fence. 

"  They're  afraid,"  he  said,  "  and  so  are  the 
horses.  Something  is  wrong,  Colonel  Buck- 
man." 

"  Afraid  of  what,  in  the  name  of  God  ? "  cried 
the  Colonel  angrily  ;  then  he  stopped.  A  long 
and  terrible  shriek  came  from  somewhere.  The 
mares  shied  and  balked  again. 

"Is  this  the  place  of  hell  ?"  cried  the  Colonel. 
"Beardsley,  my  heart  actually  fails  me.  What 
is  all  this?" 

"Animals  feel  more  than  men,"  replied  Lu- 
cian hoarsely;  "there  is  something  wrong.  I 
am  going  to  find  out  what  it  is." 

The  Colonel's  teeth  chattered  ominously. 

"I'll  go  with  you,  of  course.  I  wanted  to 
reach  this  negro  cabin.  Some  one  will  be  there, 
I  think." 

The  hut  was  dark  and  empty.  There  had 
been  no  fire  all  day. 

"The  negroes  are  away,"  said  the  Colonel, 


60  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

returning  from  his  search,  "there's  probably  no 
one  up  at  the  house  but  Dulcie  and  DeWitt." 

"No  servants?" 

"The  servants  live  in  those  cabins.  The 
farm-hands  are  down  on  the  creek  further.  The 
negroes  are  horribly  afraid  of  DeWitt,  I  can  tell 
you." 

"Sensible  negroes." 

Again  and  from  the  house  came  that  long, 
low  cry. 

"Fasten  your  horses,"  said  Lucian  between  his 
set  teeth,  "  I  am  going  right  up  there.  Have  you 
a  pistol,  Colonel  ?" 

"Two  of  them."  He  produced  a  holster 
from  under  the  seat.  The  man's  coolness  was 
returning. 

"So  have  I.  Mine  is  an  admirable  weapon. 
Now,  Colonel,  we  will  separate.  I  don't  want 
you  to  run  any  risks.  I  want  to  see  what  that 
man  is  about.  Don't  you  shoot  him  unless  you 
are  attacked,  Colonel.  I  will  attend  to  that." 

The  Colonel  was  making  fast  the  horses,  but 
he  growled  out,  stumbling  after  him : 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  an  infernal  coward,  you 
Virginian!" 

Lucian  had  vaulted  over  the  low  hedge. 

"  I  don't  —  only  there  is  Mrs.  Buckman  to 
consider.  I'm  off." 

He   ran  lightly  to  a  small  grove  of  young 


CHAPTER   FOUR  61 

trees  and  was  lost  to  sight.  The  Colonel  knew 
the  place  better,  and  making  a  circuit,  went 
stealthily  toward  the  house  under  cover  of  a 
grape-vine  trellis.  He  had  almost  reached  it, 
when  he  heard  stealthy  footsteps  and  a  man's 
voice  singing  or  humming.  He  crouched  low 
down  and  looked  out  between  the  leaves.  A 
sight  met  his  eyes  that  fairly  froze  his  soul  with 
terror.  Into  the  open  space  of  the  lawn  passed 
Dr.  DeWitt.  He  was  bareheaded.  On  his  un- 
dershirt and  linen  trousers  were  great  splotches 
and  drops  of  something  that  looked  like  blood. 
His  shoes  had  been  removed.  His  right  hand 
held  a  narrow,  thin  knife  such  as  surgeons  use, 
and  the  left  waved  a  new  hatchet.  These 
weapons  he  seemed  to  delight  to  raise  up  in  the 
moonlight,  while  he  hummed  or  sang.  His  prog- 
ress was  a  strange,  rhythmical  dance  not  un- 
like the  war  ceremonies  of  the  Indians.  Hum- 
ming always,  he  went  to  and  fro  over  the  lawn 
until  the  Colonel  had  recovered  from  his  first 
amazed  horror. 

"Crazy  as  a  loon,"  thought  the  Colonel,  "and 
it  looks  as  though  he  has  killed  Dulcie.  God 
help  us!" 

The  long,  piteous  cry  came  again,  this  time 
so  near  that  the  old  Kentuckian  could  locate  it. 
He  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

"That  is  the  bitch,   Helvetia,"   he  decided, 


6z  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"I'd  know  her  sorrow-cry  in  a  pack  of  a  thou- 
sand. I'll  find  her,  for  it  may  be  she's  stuck  to 
Dulcie  as  only  a  dog  does." 

He  brushed  his  hands  over  his  eyes.  It  was 
a  tribute  to  the  memory  of  several  dead  dogs  of 
his  own  youth  and  manhood.  He  broke  down 
a  bar  of  the  trellis  and  forced  his  way  through 
the  vines.  He  could  thus  reach  the  house  without 
being  seen  by  the  doctor,  who  was  still  teetering, 
mowing,  and  bowing  about  in  his  maudlin  orgy 
on  the  lawn. 

He  was  quite  near  the  house  when  a  terrible 
roaring  bay,  appealing,  sonorous  and  angry, 
broke  from  the  dog  in  the  house. 

"It  is  Helvetia,"  he  muttered,  "and  there  is 
danger  to  Dulcie,  or  the  creature  never  would 
snarl  like  that." 

As  fast  as  his  feet  could  carry  him,  he  hurried 
to  the  house.  The  front  door  was  wide  open. 
Directed  by  the  bay  of  the  dog,  he  passed  up  the 
stairs,  his  pistol  in  his  hand. 

At  the  head,  in  the  hallway,  he  saw  Lucian 
Beardsley  standing  still.  The  younger  man  at 
once  motioned  him  to  be  silent  and  to  advance. 
The  hound  stood  in  the  hallway,  guarding  a 
door.  It  would  have  been  death  to  have  gone  a 
step  farther. 

"I  don't  like  to  shoot  her,"  whispered  Lucian, 
"but  do  look  at  that,  Colonel.  We  must  get  in." 


CHAPTER  FOUR  63 

The  door  before  which  the  dog  stood  had 
been  broken  open  and  hung  across  the  opening 
on  one  hinge.  Beyond  was  ominous  silence. 

"She  is  in  there,  dead  or  alive,"  whispered 
the  Colonel,  "and  Helvetia  has  broken  her  chain 
since  that  thing  was  done." 

The  dog  ceased  her  angry  baying  and  was  snif- 
fing about  the  Colonel,  whom  she  recognized. 

"I  wonder  if  she  does  know  me,"  whispered 
the  Colonel.  "Beardsley,  see  if  that  madman 
is  out  on  the  lawn.  You  are  taller.  Yes  ?  We 
must  risk  something.  Let  me  call  to  the  dog.  I've 
been  Master  of  Hounds  so  many  times  that  she 
must  know  me.  Here  Veesh,  you  good  dog, 
don't  you  know  me  ?  Down,  we'll  not  hurt  you." 

The  creature  crawled  on  her  belly  toward 
him. 

"Afraid  of  my  whip,  are  you  ?  Now  Beards- 
ley,  I'll  keep  guard,  and  you  look  into  that 
room." 

"Colonel!" 

"You  must.  I've  known  her  always.  I 
can't—  "  his  voice  broke  -  "I  can't,  for  I  must 
keep  my  head." 

The  younger  man  stepped  forward.  He  for- 
got caution  and  spoke  aloud. 

"She  may  be  alive." 

"God  grant  it." 

"Must  I?  Must  I?" 


64  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"You  must.  I'm  trying  to  get  up  my  courage, 
but  that  —  O,  no,  I  can't!" 

Lucian  Beardsley  thrust  his  body  through 
the  aperture.  There  were  two  windows  in  the 
room  that  looked  out  to  the  woods.  The  third, 
to  the  south,  let  in  a  glorious  flood  of  moonlight 
that  fell  across  the  bed.  On  it  was  a  figure,  still 
lying  as  asleep.  With  one  bound  Lucian  reached 
it,  with  one  wild  oath  he  covered  its  marble 
nudity  away  from  his  own  eyes  with  the  drapery 
of  the  disordered  couch.  Then,  and  only  then, 
he  felt  the  pulse,  he  laid  his  ear  to  the  heart,  he 
listened  to  the  breathing.  Shaking  as  with  an 
ague,  he  picked  up  a  handkerchief  that  lay  on 
the  floor,  and  then  a  bottle  that  his  foot  kicked. 
He  staggered  back  to  the  door  and  said  hoarsely, 
brokenly: 

"She  is  not  dead,  Colonel.  She  is  stupid  from 
chloroform,  maybe  from  morphine  also.  Come 
in  here  and  see  this  poor  victim,  sir." 

The  Colonel  stumbled  into  the  room.  He  raised 
the  limp  hand. 

"O,  Dulcie,  Dulcie!"  he  cried.  "This  to  be! 
Philip's  poor  little  maid!  O,  my  God!" 

Lucian  caught  his  arm.  A  sound  was  plainly 
heard  on  the  stairs. 

"  He  is  coming  up,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Lucian  opened  a  closet.     . 

"Let  us  stand  here." 


CHAPTER  FOUR  65 

They  entered  the  closet  just  in  time.  Soft 
footsteps  came  on  unsteadily.  The  hound  gave 
its  low  cry,  then  dashed  into  the  room,  crouch- 
ing under  the  bed.  A  maniacal  laugh  was  heard, 
then  the  dark  body  of  the  man  appeared  at  the 
opening.  He  came  through.  To  the  horror  of 
both  men  he  came  through  on  all  fours.  In  this 
awful  fashion  he  ran  about  the  room  with 
strange,  wagging  motions  of  the  head.  It  was  a 
most  sickening  sight  and  one  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. 

As  yet  the  drug-mad  creature  had  taken  no 
notice  of  the  still  figure  on  the  bed.  Suddenly 
he  stood  erect  and  went  toward  her.  The  same 
impulse  struck  the  old  and  the  young  man  at  the 
same  time.  Mowing  terribly,  the  ugly  blood 
splotches  showing  plainly,  this  horrible  human 
being  moved  towards  Dulcie.  He  stretched  forth 
his  hand  to  touch  the  still  form.  There  were 
two  flashes,  two  reports,  and  then  a  scream. 
The  doctor's  arm  fell,  he  went  over  backward. 
Colonel  Buckman  strode  to  Dulcie.  He  gathered 
the  bed  clothes  about  her. 

"Let  that  devil  lie,"  he  said  grimly;  "you 
come  on.  I'll  send  some  niggers  to  him  and  for 
a  doctor.  One  or  both  of  us  winged  him  —  I 
wouldn't  care  if  I'd  killed  him,  not  I!  I'm  going 
to  take  the  poor  girl  home,  Mrs.  Buckman  or  no 
Mrs.  Buckman!  Is  there  any  way  of  reviving 


66  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

her,  Beardsley  ?  I  am  afraid  she  will  die.  Help 
me  carry  her  down  stairs." 

They  sat  down  on  the  porch,  with  the  moon- 
light shining  full  upon  them.  Lucian  went  into 
the  house  and  found  water.  With  it  they  bathed 
Dulcie's  face  and  hands,  and  Lucian  fanned  her. 
Presently  she  moved,  but  first  because  of  poor 
Helvetia's  licking  her  hand  affectionately.  From 
the  upper  floor  came  loud  cries  and  groans  and 
curses.  Every  moment  they  expected  Dr.  De- 
Witt  to  come  stumbling  down. 

"We  will  take  her  away  as  she  is,"  cried  the 
Colonel,  "she  will  come  around  if  she  is  drug- 
ged. He  may  have  firearms  and  make  a  dash  at 
us  any  moment." 

"Get  the  horse  then,"  he  added  after  trying 
to  lift  her;  "the  life  is  out  of  me." 

When  the  Eastern  man  dashed  away,  Dulcie 
lifted  her  head  and  laid  her  arms  on  the  Colonel's 
neck,  with  a  terrible  sob.  He  wrapped  the  bed- 
clothing  about  her,  with  a  fierce  anger  in  him. 

Lucian  led  up  the  black  horse,  and  springing 
upon  him,  took  the  woman  from  the  stagger- 
ing Colonel.  Then  he  hurried  down  the  knoll 
toward  the  buggy,  conscious  of  curses  and  shouts 
from  an  upper  window.  His  blood  ran  riot,  hot 
as  never  before,  and  he  vowed  fealty  to  this 
kinswoman  in  his  arms  with  every  mad  leap  of 
his  pulses.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  woman  — 


CHAPTER  FOUR  67 

to  be  shielded  from  woe  and  from  abuse  — 
came  into  this  man's  life.  It  was  as  if  before  she 
had  been  only  the  thing  his  savage  strain  had 
held  her,  but  that,  at  this  moment,  civilization 
and  its  better  things,  for  woman,  asserted  itself 
and  cried,"  Protect  —  love  —  shield  —  die  for  !" 
Such  care,  such  devotion,  such  rescue  as  Lucian 
Beardsley  could  give  a  woman  he  would  give 
Dulcie  DeWitt.  So  he  vowed,  and  vowing, 
watched  with  concern  the  Colonel  come  steadily 
down  the  orchard. 

"I'm  clear  undone,  Beardsley,"  he  said  in  the 
moonlight,  "he  has  been  vivisecting  Veesh's 
puppies  on  a  table.  No  wonder  the  poor  beast 
went  half  mad." 

"Ride  my  horse,  Colonel,"  said  Lucian; 
"stick  on  somehow,  and  I  will  drive  the  mares 
and  try  to  care  for  Mrs.  DeWitt." 

Slowly  they  went,  Helvetia  following.  It 
seemed  miles  to  the  Buckman  place,  miles 
up  the  avenue  and  to  the  porch,  where  they 
found  Mrs.  Buckman  and  a  negro  waiting 
anxiously. 

"We  heard  shots,"  she  said,  "and  I  know 
something  is  wrong.  Robert,  Robert,  what  is 
it?" 

The  Colonel  slipped  from  the  black  horse 
and  sat  upon  the  steps. 

"I've  brought  Dulcie  DeWitt  home  with  us. 


68  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

I  shot  him,  Sudie,  and  may  God  forgive  me  for 
having  been  such  a  coward  as  to  send  her  back 
to  him!" 

"I  shot  him  also,"  added  Lucian  Beardsley, 
"and  here  is  his  victim.  Let  me  carry  her  in  and 
go  elsewhere." 

He  knew  only  the  way  to  his  own  room,  and 
there  left  his  burden  on  the  bed.  His  great  eyes 
fairly  blazed  on  Mrs.  Buckman,  who  was  still 
standing  by  the  Colonel. 

"I'm  going  for  a  doctor  to  go  out  to  that 
place.  Good-night,  Mrs.  Buckman,  and  do  be 
good  to  her.  No  woman  ever  suffered  more." 

He  saw  the  wife  lead  the  overwrought  man  up 
the  porch  steps  as  he  turned  his  horse  into  the 
avenue  and  galloped  away  at  a  mad  pace. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  NAME 

IN  the  days  that  came  after,  Lucian  Beardsley 
could  never  remember  with  any  exactness 
the  actual  course  of  events.  He  was  caught  on 
the  whirlwind  of  Fate,  tossed  hither  and  thither 
without  conscious  volition.  There  was  a  wild, 
swift  ride  in  the  moonlight,  a  scurry  beside  a 
glittering  river,  the  click  and  clack  of  sharp  hoofs 
on  a  stony  roadway,  and  then  an  impetuous  en- 
trance into  the  sleeping  town  of  Grafton.  They 
told  him  afterwards  that  he  had  tried  to  batter 
down  the  doors  of  the  rambling  country  hotel. 
At  last  a  sleepy  voice  hailed  him  from  above 
and  enquired  mildly  as  to  what  was  wanted. 
Then  the  Virginian  demanded  hearers  to  a 
story  of  how  he  had  shot  Dr.  DeWitt  an  hour 
before  and  wanted  help  sent  out  to  him. 

This   was   a   tale   exciting   enough   to   bring 
down  not  one  but  several  men  in  undershirts 

69 


70  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

and  trousers.  One  or  two  of  them  brought  along 
revolvers  and  shot-guns.  The  landlord  was  a 
cool  and  lank  individual,  who  at  once  opened 
up  the  bar  to  meet  emergency  calls.  His  voice 
was  always  soothing  and  persuasive. 

"Sence  you're  ready  dressed,  Mr.  Beardsley, 
p'raps  you  wouldn't  mind  rousin'  the  doctah, 
sah.  Third  house  up  the  road.  He  is  used  to  it, 
so  jes'  raise  your  voice  up  a  trifle.  We'll  hitch 
right  up,  an'  a  couple  of  us  will  lick  out  there 
with  Doc.  Sure  you  hain't  killed  him,  damn  him  ? 
Then  you  come  right  back  heah,  sah,  an'  we'll 
put  you  up  'til  mornin'.  We'll  get  Beam'  Van  Wye 
fer  you  ef  ye're  arrested  —  you  expect  that, 
shorely,  sah  —  an'  he'll  see  to  all  the  prelimina- 
ries. The  law  has  to  take  its  coas',  sah.  You'll 
understand  we  all  yer  friends  an'  would  do  it 
ourselves  if  necessary.  You'll  be  cleared,  sah, 
of  coas',  sah." 

"Arrest  me?"  cried  the  Virginian,  aghast  at 
the  idea. 

"Suttinly,  sah,  but  it  won't  'mount  to  a 
thing.  Call  the  doctah,  Mr.  Beardsley,  while  I 
rouses  up  the  niggahs." 

Lucian  rushed  his  sweating  horse  a  little 
farther  on.  The  doctor,  burly  and  jovial,  ap- 
peared in  his  night-clothes  upon  a  convenient 
upper  gallery.  While  listening  to  an  incoherent 
tale  he  reached  backward,  and  with  no  embar- 


CHAPTER  FIVE  71 

rassment,  continued  to  don  his  garments  of  the 
daytime.  As  he  strained  his  suspenders  and 
buttoned  and  tied  he  flung  out  remarks  to  the 
horseman  below. 

"I  don't  care  if  you've  settled  him  forever. 
He's  gone  so  far  he's  only  fit  for  an  insane  asylum, 
and  that's  about  the  honest  fact.  Nothing  can 
be  done  for  him  now  and  she  will  have  to  leave 
him  some  day.  Yes,  I'm  hurrying.  He  probably 
isn't  so  bad  off  if  he  could  cuss  as  lively  as  you 
said  he  did." 

He  turned  ere  he  disappeared  in  through  a 
door. 

"You  don't  have  any  idea  I  had  better  send 
for  the  Coroner,  do  you  ?" 

A  faintness  came  over  the  spirit  of  the  Vir- 
ginian. The  question  was  too  blunt.  He  shook 
his  head  and  rode  back  to  the  hotel.  It  was 
filling  up  with  neighbouring  men  and  a  few 
women.  All  were  discussing  the  story. 

"Let  me  have  a  room,  will  you?"  he  said  a 
little  haughtily;  "let  me  get  out  of  this." 

A  sarcastic  female  flung  a  remark  after  him: 

"Makes  mighty  free  with  his  remarks  as 
well  as  his  weepons,  don't  he  ?" 

"I'd  hesh  if  I  war  you,"  growled  her  husband; 
"  as  if  you  owned  all  Grafton." 

The  lank  landlord  led  Lucian  up  a  dark  stair- 
way and  into  a  corner  room  with  five  windows. 


72  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"I'd  go  to  sleep  if  I  war  you,"  he  advised, 
"and  I'll  send  out  to  the  Colonel's  after  yer 
things  for  you.  I  calkilate  there'll  be  a  warrant 
out  for  you  'bout  four  o'clock,  jes'  as  soon  as 
we've  heerd  from  the  doctor.  But  keep  a  stiff 
upper  lip.  Beam'  Van  Wye,  he  will  see  to  every- 
thing, and  all  you  got  to  do  is  to  foot  the  bill." 

Lucian  fell  on  the  bed  physically  exhausted. 

"Send  a  telegram  for  my  man,  Blount  Sum- 
mers, at  the  Phoenix,  Lexington.  Tell  him  to 
come  down  here  with  the  baggage.  Have  you 
any  one  to  wait  on  me  ?  I'm  about  worn  out." 

The  landlord  mused. 

"There  mought  be  John  Childress." 

"Who?" 

"O,  an  old  negro  around  hyah.  Come  to 
think  of  it,  he  war  Mis'  DeWitt's  fathah's  own 
nigger.  I  calkilate  I  seen  him  hangin'  around 
downstairs  a  spell  ago." 

"Send  him  up  if  he  is  there,"  said  Lucian, 
lying  on  his  back  and  gazing  at  the  ceiling. 

Presently  a  tall  old  negro  entered,  with  a  can 
of  hot  water  and  a  low  bow.  Lucian  lay  quite 
still.  Gentle  fingers  unfastened  his  collar  and 
tie,  relieved  him  of  his  shoes,  and  bathed  his 
dusty  face  and  hands.  Later  a  generous  drink 
put  life  into  him.  He  sat  up  then.  The  negro 
regarded  him  with  much  interest. 

"What  is  your  name,  boy  ?" 


CHAPTER  FIVE  73 

"John,  sah,  John  Childress." 

"That  is  a  good  name." 

"Yes,  sah,  I  war  raised  'long  o'  Miss  Dulcie's 
paw.  Air  she  any  hu't,  sah  ?  I  do  t'anks  you  fer 
shootin'  dat  deliberlt  debbil,  sah." 

"O,  you  do!  Well,  John,  stay  here  and  wait 
on  me.  Once,  long  ago,  our  family  and  one  of 
the  old  Childress  people  married.  Mrs.  DeWitt 
is  a  cousin,  you  see.  That  is  why  I  could  not 
stand  it.  See  ?" 

"I  see  whar  ye're  jes'  right,  sah." 

"John,  I'm  going  to  sleep.  If  the  law  comes 
to  the  door,  keep  it  out  until  I  get  rested.  Mind 
what  I  tell  you,  John!" 

The  man  grinned  and  rolled  his  sad  eyes. 

"I  wull,  sah,  I  wull.  I  tells  Massa  Van  Wye 
jes'  ter  keep  de  lor  in  de  hall  fer  a  spell." 

Lucian's  superb  health  conquered  his  nerves. 
He  fell  into  a  dreamless  slumber  after  reflecting, 
very  much  as  all  moneyed  men  are  apt  to  re- 
flect, that  wealth  is  a  key  that  opens  all  doors. 
While  the  Virginian  lay  there,  quietly  sleeping, 
the  law  came  and  waited  respectfully  for  him 
to  awaken.  Outside  his  door  sat  a  town  marshal, 
with  a  warrant  sworn  out  by  Dr.  DeWitt's 
cousin,  Henry  Swayne,  and  the  village  lawyer, 
Beamer  Van  Wye. 

Morning  came  and  brought  the  news  that  Dr. 
DeWitt  was  shot  twice,  both  in  the  arm  and 


74  THE   ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

side,  but  that  one  shot  made  only  a  flesh  wound. 
The  town  seethed  with  the  idea  that  Colonel 
Buckman,  also,  was  a  guilty  party,  although  the 
man  asleep  above  stairs  had  not  once  mentioned 
the  fact.  Dr.  DeWitt  had  mouthed  curses  and 
threats  enough  to  tell  the  truth,  although  still 
raving  like  a  lunatic.  Henry  Swayne  swore  out 
another  warrant,  and  two  constables  went  to 
Broad  Acres.  At  last  the  increasing  noise  out- 
side the  hotel  wakened  Lucian.  He  opened  his 
eyes  to  see  John  sitting  at  the  door,  which  pushed 
inward,  and  was  fastened  by  a  great  wooden  but- 
ton as  well  as  an  iron  bolt. 

"Dey  air  out  dar,  sah." 

"They?" 

"Constubbles  an*  ma'shul,  sah.  Massa  Van 
Wye  done  got  you  bailed  out  a'reddy." 

Lucian  laughed,  but  a  little  bitterly.  He  won- 
dered what  his  brother  Fordyce  would  say  if 
he  knew.  Then  he  thought  of  Dulcie  DeWitt  and 
groaned.  Life  had  lost  its  zest. 

The  man  that  John  now  let  in  at  the  cau- 
tiously opened  door  was  tall  and  handsome, 
middle-aged,  but  curiously  blighted  in  appear- 
ance. It  was  not  dissipation,  but  as  if  a  sharp  axe 
had  been  at  the  roots  of  an  oak  tree  that  dies 
slowly  and  surely.  His  face  was  even  noble,  and 
his  long  hair  was  pushed  back  from  a  brow 
white  and  broad  to  a  fault. 


CHAPTER   FIVE  75 

The  two  men  gazed  at  each  other  for  a  mo- 
ment. Lucian  held  out  his  hand  and  said: 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  you  sir." 

The  lawyer  replied  in  kind,  but  regarded  the 
Virginian  with  a  curious  yet  courteous  scrutiny. 
He  asked  a  few  questions,  then  remarked: 

"You  will  have  no  trouble,  Mr.  Beardsley, 
as  Doctor  DeWitt  is  only  winged  a  little  and 
the  wound  in  the  side  a  flesh  scratch.  I  am  sure 
neither  of  you  shot  to  kill,  and  it  is  a  good  thing, 
a  good  thing.  Mrs.  DeWitt  will  get  the  worst  of 
it  because  of  the  publicity." 

Lucian  Beardsley  flushed  in  spite  of  his 
efforts. 

"That  is  a  hard  assertion  for  me  to  listen 
to.  She  is  a  distant  kinswoman  of  mine,  and  I 
mean  to  stand  by  her." 

"Colonel  Buckman  is  coming,"  the  lawyer 
observed  dryly;  "they  got  him  quick  enough." 

The  horse  breeder  looked  a  decade  older  in 
the  morning  light.  Deep  lines  furrowed  his  red 
face.  He  shook  hands  with  the  lawyer  and  then 
came  over  and  sat  by  Lucian's  bed. 

"I  hope  you  slept,  Beardsley.  I  never  closed 
my  eyes.  I  cannot  get  the  horror  of  it  out  of 
my  mind.  They  say  he  is  all  right,  but  Dulcie 
is  in  a  bad  way.  I've  sent  the  doctor  right  out. 
That  wretch  gave  her  morphine  or  chloroform 
all  day  because  she  was  going  to  run  away. 


76  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

He  let  all  the  negroes  off  on  a  holiday  excur- 
sion." 

"And  your  wife?" 

"Is  nursing  Dulcie  as  her  mother  would  have 
done,    but    is    broken-hearted,    broken-hearted 
over  the  scandal  there  will  be." 
.   "Scandal?" 

"Every  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  in  the  county 
will  be  rolling  it  all  over  their  tongues.  Folks 
are  bound  to  talk,  but  we  must  not  tell  —  not 
we  —  what  we  really  saw  there." 

"But,  Colonel  - 

"You  must  spare  the  woman,  Beardsley.  O, 
you  will,  you  will!  He  could  easily  attack  us, 
you  see,  for  some  remark  we  carelessly  passed, 
or  about  your  refusal  to  take  the  horse.  That 
would  do  very  well.  Lord,  Beardsley,  you  could 
not  get  up  and  tell  about  all  that,  not  you! 
Come  here,  Van  Wye,  and  convince  this  young- 
ster. We  all  must  save  Dulcie,  Beamer;  we 
must!"- 

"Show  up  the  villain!"  cried  Lucian  with 
heat. 

"The  law  don't  ask  for  such  a  sacrifice  of 
her,"  expostulated  the  Colonel,  "  and  to  think  of 
it  all  being  in  the  papers,  going  everywhere! 
Why,  her  father  would  come  out  of  his  grave, 
wouldn't  he,  Beamer  ?  We  shot,  both  of  us.  That's 
all.  Fine  whatever  old  Billy  Bosworth  wants. 


CHAPTER  FIVE  77 

Fine  paid,  drinks  all  round,  everything  pleasant, 
and  that's  the  end  —  that's  all!" 

The  Colonel  slapped  his  thigh  with  unction 
at  his  own  contrivances. 

"I  think  the  man  should  be  exposed,  not 
shielded,"  declared  the  Virginian.  "Men  should 
stand  by  their  deeds." 

The  quiet  one  glanced  over  the  Colonel's  head 
out  of  the  window. 

"  I  have  held  back  nothing,"  went  on  Lucian, 
"but  it  was  truth.  I  will  not  deny  it." 

"You  ought  to  have  thought  deeper,"  re- 
torted the  Colonel,  "  but,  of  course,  you  are  not 
one  of  us.  You  can't  understand  us.  No  one 
outside  can." 

Pride  burned  on  Lucian's  brow. 

"Colonel,  a  hundred  years  ago  my  great- 
grandmother  and  great-grandfather  were  mar- 
ried here.  She  was  a  Kentuckian.  My  grand- 
father was  born  here.  I  feel  that  I  have  some 
claim  on  the  kindness  of  the  people  here,  some 
sympathy  with  them,  while  I  am  proud  to  be  a 
Virginian.  But  over  all  that,  I  am  a  man  and  not 
a  child.  I  think  my  cousin  —  for  cousin  she  is 
to  me  —  has  been  cruelly  treated  by  you  all ; 
is  not  protected  or  shielded  from  criminal 
cruelty.  Why  not  expose  this  madman's  crimes  ? 
Why  not  rescue  the  well-born  woman  from  a 
degradation  that  is  actually  foul  ?  They  say  no 


78  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

asylum  would  have  him  after  his  drug  sprees 
are  over.  She,  and  she  alone,  because  married 
to  him,  must  endure  all.  I  will  not  hide  or  palliate 
such  a  course,  not  I!" 

"So  you  want  to  tell  it  all,  you?"  angrily 
cried  the  Colonel. 

"I  do  not  want  to  tell  anything,"  retorted 
Lucian.  "Were  it  not  for  the  woman,  I  would 
leave  you  all  in  contempt.  I  will  be  silent  now, 
but  I  feel  assured  that  this  exposure  will  have 
to  come  sooner  or  later;  I  shall  choose  my  own 
way  to  work." 

"Take  my  advice,"  roared  the  Colonel.  "Go 
back  home  and  let  us  alone  and  let  Dulcie  alone. 
You  are  not  of  us,  and  you  must  not  interfere. 
You've  been  world-raised,  educated,  polished, 
slicked  over,  all  your  decent  old  notions  plastered 
with  ones  brought  over  from  France  and  Eng- 
land and  God  knows  where,  only  that  it  is 
where  people  are  so  old  they're  rotten.  You 
haven't  any  idea  of  the  way  we  regard  marriage. 
You  have  never  thought  once  of  it  as  sacred. 
Women  to  you  are  playthings,  and  when  the 
paint  wears  off  you  throw  them  away  like 
toys." 

The  plain  truth  of  these  remarks  absolutely 
calmed  Lucian's  anger.  He  smiled  rather 
amused. 

"Some  of  those  things  are  very  true,  Colonel. 


CHAPTER  FIVE  79 

Some  others  are  new  to  me.  I  hope  I  am  sound 
at  the  core,  but  I  do  not  suppose  I  feel  as  you 
do.  Well,  I  will  keep  silent  in  spite  of  my 
convictions.  I'll  do  more.  I've  sprained  my 
ankle  somehow,  and  will  not  appear  at  all." 

This  view  of  the  case  was  so  eminently  satis- 
factory to  the  Colonel  that  he  became  as  meek  as 
a  lamb. 

"Set  the  case  for  nine  o'clock,"  he  said  to  the 
lawyer;  "'pears  to  me  you  are  a  mighty  help, 
ain't  you  ?  Haven't  said  a  damn  word  all  this 
time.  Well,  you  know  what  to  do  now.  I'll 
appear,  he  will  not,  and  I'm  going  to  eat  my 
breakfast  and  feel  better  afterwards.  Have  yours 
sent  up,  Beardsley  ?  I  brought  over  your  dressing- 
case  and  valises  for  you." 

"I  feel  like  going  asleep  again,"  said  the 
Virginian.  "Now  suppose  you  hold  your  little 
Kentucky  hocus-pocus  any  way  you  like.  I'll 
pay  all  the  fines  if  I  can  only  sleep  and  not  feel 
so  furious  when  I  wake  up.  It  don't  pay.  Go 
ahead,  Colonel,  and  Mr.  Van  Wye,  and  suppose 
you  order  all  that  this  house  affords  on  me. 
You  will  please  treat  Mr.  Van  Wye  to  the  best, 
Colonel,  and  let  me  alone." 

"A  right  testy  and  chesty  gentleman,"  quoth 
the  lawyer  below  stairs  at  the  bar,  "even  for 
these  parts." 

"A  man,  by  the  eternal!"  quoth  the  Colonel 


8o  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

in  reply,  "a  man  such  as  we  had  in  the  old 
days  when  courage  counted  for  something.  A 
spirit  uncompromising  and  yet  admirable.  He 
would  certainly  fall  in  love  with  Dulcie  if  he  was 
with  her,  the  foolish  poppet  she  is.  I'll  fight 
him  tooth  and  nail  about  it,  Beamer,  but  I 
don't  know  how  it  will  turn  out.  He's  ne*w  to  us, 
new  to  us,  and  we  can't  measure  the  new  ways 
and  fashions  out  here.  He  would  think  she  was 
just  as  good  divorced  as  if  she  was  fresh  and  new 
for  him.  I've  heard  that  where  he  come  from 
they  like  experience  better  than  freshness.  Young 
men  marry  older  women,  and  men  and  women 
change  partners  like  at  a  dance.  It  is  all  too 
much  for  me,  and  I'm  too  old-fashioned  to  under- 
stand. Dulcie  is  well-rooted  in  life.  How  will 
she  meet  these  new  ideas  ?  It's  a  fifteen  puzzle, 
that's  what  it  is,  Beamer.  She  has  always  blown 
east  and  west  with  the  wind.  We  must  take  care 
of  her,  and  keep  her  away  from  this  divorce 
business." 

The  lawyer  regarded  the  Colonel  with  large, 
deep-set  eyes.  Then  he  spoke  out  languidly: 

"He  is  as  daring  as  Satan,  and  has  plenty  of 
money." 

"A  millionaire  by  rumour,"  confirmed  the 
Colonel;  "one  of  the  confounded  Four  Hundred 
of  New  York,  although  of  a  good  old  Virginia 
stock.  Knows  London  and  Paris  and  Vienna 


CHAPTER  FIVE  81 

as  well  as  I  know  my  own  stable-yard,  and  goes 
to  St.  Petersburg  or  Australia  as  easily  as  I  go 
to  Lexington  or  Cincinnati.  When  you  know  it 
all  there  isn't  much  to  be  afraid  of,  but  I  wish 
he  was  in  Guinea,  instead  of  here,  with  his 
new  whims." 

"But  you  like  him." 

"  Can't  help  it,  if  he  is  a  sort  of  forbidden  thing, 
according  to  my  ideas.  I  suppose  I  would  ad- 
mire the  devil's  manners  and  shrewdness.  They 
must  be  pretty  slick,  Beamer.  I'm  thinking  all 
the  time  of  our  poor,  sweet  little  woman  out  there. 
Why,  if  he  wanted  to  do  it,  he'd  marry  her  in 
twenty-four  hours  after  divorcing  her  and  never 
feel  a  qualm  of  conscience,  or  he  would  not  mar- 
ry her  at  all.  Who  knows  ? " 

The  spare,  pale  man  was  quite  earnest  as  he 
leaned  over  the  small  round  breakfast-table. 

"I  rather  believe  in  him,  Colonel.  I  believe  he 
is  sincere  in  his  desire  to  help  a  kinswoman. " 

"  Sho ! "  said  the  Colonel,  "  she  is  mighty  tempt- 
ing with  those  big,  pitiful  eyes  of  hers.  She  used 
to  twist  me  'round  her  finger  when  she  was  ten. 
Sincerity  ?  The  devil,  Van  Wye!" 

"Even  he  is  sometimes  not  as  black  as  he  is 
painted,"  suggested  the  lawyer. 

The  Colonel  again  relented  over  his  breakfast. 

"  I  like  his  spirit.  I  wish  I  was  young  again  and 
I  would  see  something  of  the  world  myself.  I 


8a  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

don't  know  much  but  horses  and  stables,  after 
all." 

If  ever  Grafton  suffered  a  grevious  disappoint- 
ment it  was  over  the  DeWitt  shooting  affair.  All 
the  town  was  there  and  many  of  the  county.  The 
New  York  "guy"  did  not  appear  and  the  Colonel 
was  obviously  and  determinedly  good-natured. 
The  doctor's  word  excused  Mr.  Beardsley,  whose 
testimony  was  read.  The  Colonel  testified  to 
shooting  at  Doctor  DeWitt  after  high  words.  Mr. 
Beardsley  admitted  the  same.  Both  said  it  was 
necessary  and  in  self-defence.  The  doctor  was  not 
himself  and  there  one  had  it.  Lawyer  Van  Wye 
explained  all  this  with  great  gravity,  while  every 
soul  in  the  room  knew  the  actual  truth  or  near  it. 
They  admired  the  ingenuity,  recognized  the  de- 
vice, and  understood  the  reason.  Dr.  Snow  testi- 
fied that  Dr.  DeWitt's  wounds  were  not  of  a 
serious  character.  As  it  was  only  a  little  gentle- 
manly shooting,  fines  were  assessed  at  fifty  dollars 
each  for  carrying  concealed  and  deadly  weapons, 
and  the  crowd  adjourned  to  the  hotel  bar,  where 
the  Colonel  at  once  ordered  drinks  all  around 
and  the  landlord,  his  wife  and  the  stablemen 
were  kept  busy  for  an  hour  dispensing  liquid 
hospitality.  The  Colonel  and  the  lawyer  found 
Lucian  eating  a  hearty  breakfast,  with  the  tray  on 
the  bed,  and  he  was  quite  ready  to  acknowledge  a 
great  feeling  of  relief  over  the  outcome. 


CHAPTER  FIVE  83 

"Henry  Swayne  wanted  Bosworth  to  con- 
tinue," said  the  Colonel,  "but  Bosworth  knows 
there  hain't  any  money  about  Henry's  business  or 
the  doctor's,  either." 

"Law  is  law,"  quoth  Van  Wye  smiling,  "at 
least  in  Grafton.  Well,  it  is  all  over  now,  unless 
Doctor  DeWitt  does  a  little  gentlemanly  shooting 
on  his  own  account  when  he  goes  on  his  next 
tear." 

"I  will  risk  that,"  said  Lucian,  "as  an  opium 
fiend  is  the  worst  of  cowards  and  the  worst  of 
bullies  to  boot.  Now  to  another  matter.  Mr.  Van 
Wye,  I  have  been  asking  John  about  a  house  here 
that  is  empty  and  on  the  edge  of  Grafton.  Is  it  not 
called  '  Paradise'  ?  John  tells  me  it  is  partly  fur- 
nished and  that  it  has  long  been  empty.  I  feel  that 
it  would  suit  me  much  better  than  a  hotel  while  I 
stay  here." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  would  open  it,  furnish 
it,  and  live  there  ?" 

"For  a  time,"  said  Lucian,  "I  feel  that  I  am 
needed  here.  It  is  carrying  war  right  into  the  ene- 
my's camp,  Colonel,  but  as  you  think  you  are 
doing  right,  so  do  I.  I  do  not  claim  a  conscience, 
but  my  ideas  and  my  inclinations  tell  me  to 
stay." 

"Don't  come  out  to  Broad  Acres  for  a  while," 
grinned  the  Colonel;  "I  think  I  see  Mrs.  Buck- 
man  when  she  hears  that  you're  located.  Don't 


84  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

you  press  yourself  on  us  until  we  are  reconciled. 
Now  we  are  unstrung  and  irritable.  Mrs.  DeWitt 
is  ill,  very  ill  this  time.  The  doctor  has  been  out 
and  says  she  will  not  be  herself  for  weeks.  So  you 
will  have  to  let  her  alone  and  maybe  you  will  soon 
get  tired  of  it  all.  Grafton  is  not  a  lively  place. " 

"I  think  it  is,"  said  Lucian  graciously;  "it  has 
been  exceedingly  lively  for  several  days.  In  fact, 
short  of  a  war,  it  gives  one  the  most  uncertain  of 
feelings.  I  wonder  if  I  could  drive  down  to  see 
this  Paradise  of  yours  to-morrow,  Van  Wye  ?  I 
like  the  name.  I  believe  I  shall  like  the  place." 

"I'm  off,"  cried  the  Colonel.  "You  do  beat  the 
world.  I  don't  know  what  I  will  hear  next.  I  shall 
fight  you  tooth  and  nail  about  Dulcie." 

"What  are  you  afraid  of?"  retorted  the  Vir- 
ginian. "  I  suppose  it  will  dawn  on  me  some  day 
if  you  don't  tell  me.  Things  permeate  a  man  here. 
Now,  Mr.  Van  Wye,  tell  me  about  this  old  Para- 
dise —  I  hear  it  has  a  most  charming  and  old- 
fashioned  garden." 


CHAPTER  SIX 

IN  THE  VEIN  OF  CHIVALRY 

ALL  day  the  Virginian  dozed  and  at  last 
slept  soundly.  When  he  awoke  the  next 
morning  he  was  once  more  normal  and 
placid.  It  was  a  warm  morning  and  already  the 
flies  buzzed  busily  against  the  blue  mosquito  net- 
ting which  screened  the  long  windows.  The  man 
idly  watched  them  and  did  not  trouble  himself 
to  think.  Suddenly  the  events  of  yesterday  re- 
curred to  him  with  deep  significance.  Was  he 
asleep  and  did  he  dream,  or  had  he  awakened 
from  a  long  sleep  and  lived  for  the  first  time  ? 

All  the  while  the  old  servant,  John  Childress, 
fanned  him  tirelessly  or  moved  about  to  add  to 
his  comfort.  Lucian  followed  his  gaunt  form  with 
an  idle  gaze.  He  scanned  his  features  curiously, 
he  noted  with  some  shade  of  melancholy  the  high 
cheek  bones,  the  sidewise  glances  not  unlike  his 
own,  and  always  characteristic  of  that  Indian  an- 
cestor as  pictured  by  him. 


86  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"John,"  he  said  after  a  short  consideration, 
"John,  I  suppose  you  are  called  Childress  after 
your  former  master's  family.  That  was  the  cus- 
tom, wasn't  it  ?  Was  your  master  Philip  Chil- 
dress's  father?" 

"Yes,  massa,"  replied  the  old  man  gently,  "I 
war  brung  right  up  erlong  with  Massa  Philip. 
He  war  jes'  a  little  older'n  me. " 

"  He  should  have  given  you  a  little  house  and 
some  ground,"  said  Lucian  musingly. 

"  De  wah  took  most  all  dat, "  replied  the  man, 
"  and  he  wanted  Miss  Dulcie  to  be  fixed  jes  right. 
Couldn't  give  every  nigga  he  had  owned  a  home. 
Dar  war  moah  than  me,  sah,  wen  de  wah 
come. " 

"Well,  I'll  take  you  with  me,  John,"  spoke 
the  Virginian  warmly.  "  I'll  keep  you  with  me. " 

"You  air  moughty  kind,"  observed  the  old 
man,  "but,  sah,  dar's  two  things  I  can't  leab  — 
my  old   woman  and  Kentucky,  sah.   Dem  air 
two  things  I  can't  leab. " 

Lucian  looked  at  him  a  moment.  A  week  ago 
he  would  have  thought  him  foolish,  shiftless.  This 
moment  he  was  not  able  to  form  an  opinion.  He 
thought  the  old  man  had  a  firm  hold  on  a  cord 
that  was  tightening  around  his  own  heart.  For- 
tune had  always  been  friends  with  him,  but  she 
might  frown,  and,  then,  had  he  a  saving  rope  out 
anywhere  ? 


CHAPTER  SIX  87 

He  resolutely  kept  his  thoughts  from  the  events 
of  the  previous  night.  He  did  not  dare  to  think, 
for  even  a  passing  thought  shook  his  whole 
being.  It  was  a  dream,  a  nightmare.  He  felt 
that  he  might  go  mad  himself  at  the  very  mem- 
ory. 

"John,  John!"  he  cried,  "I  cannot  stay  in 
doors  any  longer.  We  will  go  to  see  that  house  if 
you  will  borrow  me  a  cane.  I  must  be  out  of  doors 
and  drive  the  blue  devils  away.  Your  Kentucky 
is  too  serious  a  matter." 

While  he  was  limping  along  the  street,  the 
cynosure  of  many  curious  eyes,  his  English  ser- 
vant came  up  from  the  railroad  station.  He  had 
just  arrived,  also  an  array  of  trunks,  bags, 
parcels,  and  hampers  that  amazed  the  Grafton 
loafers. 

This  man  was  a  quiet  Englishman  who  had 
served  Lucian  since  the  time  of  his  brother's  mar- 
riage. He  liked  his  American  master  and  was 
faithful  beyond  his  hire.  If  he  was  disgusted  at 
the  summons  to  this  small  village  it  did  not  show 
in  his  countenance,  but  his  eyebrows  lifted  as 
Lucian  limped  up  with  the  old  negro  following 
respectfully  in  the  rear. 

"Leave  the  trunks  for  the  present, "ordered 
Lucian,  "You  are  going  with  me  to  look  at  a 
house." 

Mr.  Summers,  very  correct  in  dress  and  man- 


88  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

ner,  gave  no  hint  of  his  feelings  save  in  his  eye- 
brows. 

"I'm  going  to  promote  you,"  went  on  his 
master.  "You  will  have  to  help  me  a  great  deal 
while  here,  and  I've  taken  on  this  man  for  a  tem- 
porary body-servant.  Dress  him  up  right.  Linen 
is  the  proper  thing,  isn't  it  ?" 

Mr.  Summers  looked  at  the  new  servant  and 
thought  that  linen  would  be  the  proper  thing. 

The  keys  of  the  empty  house  were  with  Beamer 
Van  Wye.  That  worthy  was  reading  Shaks- 
pere  while  swinging  in  an  old  hammock  back  of 
his  frame  office.  He  sprang  up  and  put  on  a  seer- 
sucker coat  when  he  saw  the  procession  filing  in 
at  the  gate. 

"You  really  want  that  house  ?"  he  asked,  quite 
gaily  for  him. 

"  Really.  My  family  grows,  for  I  have  adopted 
John,  and  he  will  not  leave  his  wife,  he  says. 
Summers  is  indispensable,  and  I  have  two  horses 
besides  my  brother's  new  black  one." 

"Grafton  has  never  before  had  a  real  fairy 
prince,"  observed  the  lawyer  dryly.  "The  young 
maidens  have  been  looking  for  the  man  in  the 
moon.  Now  he  has  come. " 

His  faded  but  expressive  eyes  met  Lucian's 
with  a  smiling  and  meaning  look.  The  nonsense 
and  the  arrival  of  his  servant,  a  familiar  figure 
from  the  more  placid  existence  of  the  past,  up- 


CHAPTER   SEX  89 

lifted  Lucian.  He  had  but  to  order  and  there  was 
help  at  hand. 

"Where  is  this  Paradise?"  he  laughed  as  the 
lawyer  took  down  a  bunch  of  keys  and  put  on  a 
sun-bleached  hat. 

"  On  the  outer  edge  of  the  village.  It  is  still  a 
fine  place.  In  other  days  it  was  the  abode  of  hos- 
pitality. The  need  of  money  is  the  reason  of  its 
neglect.  The  owner  is  in  Italy.  His  daughter  had 
a  voice  and  was  endeavouring  to  cultivate  it  when 
she  married  there." 

There  was  such  a  peculiar  note  of  sadness  in 
his  tone  that  Lucian  forebore  to  question  him. 

They  passed  along  the  quiet  Grafton  streets 
where  wooden  houses  were  set  back  in  green 
yards,  sometimes  deep  in  the  embowering  or- 
chards. Now  and  again  houses  of  red  brick  or 
white  frame,  with  porches  and  many  outbuildings, 
appeared.  At  last  there  appeared  a  long,  low  wall 
of  grey  masonry,  over  which  the  branches  of  fruit 
trees  hung  low. 

"Behind  this  wall  lies  Paradise,"  said  the 
lawyer;  "its  garden  still  deserves  the  name." 

He  unfastened  a  padlocked  gate  of  white  pal- 
ings between  two  stone  posts.  Above  the  rose- 
vines  formed  an  arch  and,  untrimmed  for  years, 
swung  blossoming  branches  over  their  very 
heads.  A  grass-grown  avenue  led  forward  to  a  cir- 
cular plat.  In  the  midst  of  wild-growing  weed  and 


90  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

bush  stood  an  ancient  sun-dial.  The  circular  ave- 
nue passed  before  the  lower  steps  of  a  red  house, 
one  story  in  the  front,  while  further  back  the 
windows  of  the  second  story  showing  plainly  over 
the  flat  roof.  A  terrace  of  masonry  was  built 
along  the  broad  front  of  the  house,  a  flight  of 
steps  led  up  to  a  double  door  set  in  a  recessed 
alcove  of  elaborately  carved  woodwork.  Vines 
broken  and  untrained  were  riotous  everywhere. 
Trailing  rose-branches  and  honeysuckle  tendrils 
covered  the  front  steps,  while  purple  clematis  and 
wistaria  shook  at  them  from  the  corners  of  the 
house  and  windows. 

Lucian  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Paradise!"  he  breathed  hungrily.  "I  can 
make  this  place  so  lovely  that  every  one  will  stand 
outside  disconsolate.  It  will  be  almost  an  Italian 
place,  with  awnings  here  and  there,  and  this 
garden  rearranged.  Let  us  go  inside,  Mr.  Van 
Wye." 

There  was  a  wide  hall  through  the  house,  a 
quaint,  narrow,  curving  staircase  at  the  back, 
four  large  rooms  in  the  main  building  and  half  a 
dozen  smaller  ones  in  the  rear.  The  furniture  was 
old,  very  quaint  and  very  dusty,  and  many  of  the 
bare  windows  were  broken. 

"As  it  is,  it  is  much  better  than  the  hotel," 
said  Lucian,  "and  I  will  sleep  here  to-night  even 
if  I  do  see  ghosts.  The  deed  is  done,  good  Mr. 


CHAPTER   SIX  91 

Van  Wye.  You  are  privileged  to  smoke  every 
night  on  this  terrace  and  to  keep  me  company. " 

"  How  long  will  you  want  it  ? "  asked  the  law- 
yer curiously. 

"  How  long,  how  long  ? "  repeated  Lucian, 
startled.  A  problem  stared  him  in  the  face.  "Six 
months,  no,  no,  say  a  year.  You  see,  I  have  my 
cousin  to  look  after.  And  now,  my  good  friend, 
sit  you  down  and  see  what  fine  executive  ability 
Summers  and  myself  have.  John,  you  also  have 
your  part  to  play.  Where  is  your  wife  ?" 

"Home,  sir,  in  de  old  cabin." 

"Can  she  keep  this  house  with  some  of  those 
yellow  girls  for  help  ?" 

"She's  a  good  woman,"  put  in  the  lawyer, 
"  and  not  so  old  as  you  would  think,  to  look  at 
John." 

"Get  her  here,  John.  Let  her  fix  me  that  room 
at  once,  and  make  the  stable  ready.  Summers, 
write  out  orders  for  our  instant  needs,  and  tele- 
graph them  to  Lexington  and  Cincinnati." 

He  drew  the  lawyer's  arm  through  his  own  and 
they  walked  down  the  deserted  garden  paths. 

"Do  you  know,"  Lucian  remarked,  watching 
the  scared  flight  of  a  number  of  cardinals  who, 
because  of  the  long,  deserted  privacy  of  this  odor- 
ous garden  had  long  nested  there  without  fear, 
"I  have  dwelt  in  lodgings,  apartments,  flats, 
hotels,  what  not  ?  Fordyce  and  I  once  rented  a 


92  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

whole  palace  for  a  summer  —  but  this  —  this  is 
the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  have  ever  had  a  real 
home. " 

"It  means  a  great  deal,"  acquiesced  the  pale 
man,  "to  house,  to  shelter,  to  withdraw  into,  to 
enclose  one's  self  as  in  a  circle  of  promising  priv- 
acy. It  is  a  castle,  a  kingship,  a  reply  to  Nature's 
best  question.  A  home  answers  the  deepest  and 
purest  demand  a  man  makes  of  himself." 

Lucian's  eyes  shone  under  his  fine  brows. 

"What  a  poem  you  make  of  it!  I  could  not  buy 
that  feeling  with  money. " 

"The  critic  cannot  write  a  song  or  verse,"  the 
lawyer  replied  quietly,  "  and  I  have  no  home  save 
a  room  in  a  widow's  boarding-house. " 

"Be  my  guest  while  I  stay  here,"  impulsively 
cried  the  Virginian. 

"No,  no.  I  would  rather  come  and  go,  free  as 
air.  It  will  be  a  place  to  look  to,  to  linger  in,  and 
where  I  can  smoke  my  pipe  when  the  oil  gives 
out  of  my  lamp. " 

He  laughed  half-sadly. 

"You  shall  be  my  lawyer  at  least,"  said  the 
younger  man.  "  I  always  have  lawyers  about.  But 
you  will  have  to  help  me  with  my  cousin  if  she 
will  allow  it.  Do  you  know"  -here  he  smiled 
very  clearly  up  into  the  eyes  of  the  man  before 
him-  "I  was  imagining  her  a  moment  ago, 
walking  down  this  path  with  a  happy  look  in  her 


CHAPTER  SIX  93 

eyes  and  a  smile.  I  have  never  seen  her  smile.  I 
only  imagine  it.  She  would  look  up  at  the  birds 
and  her  thoughts,  her  actions,  her  life,  should 
be  as  free  as  they  are. " 

His  face  was  lit  with  enthusiasm.  Beamer  Van 
Wye  was  startled.  He  gave  him  a  sharp  look  of 
scrutiny  and  walked  onward. 
,    "You  are  either  angel  or  devil,"  said  he  as  he 
turned  into  the  avenue.  "I  wonder  which  one  ?" 

"Your  ideas  and  Mrs.  Buckman's  are  singu- 
larly alike,"  laughed  Lucian.  "The  question  was 
never  presented  to  me  before  I  came  to  Ken- 
tucky. Here  people  will  have  your  spiritual  pedi- 
gree. I  really  do  not  know,  Van  Wye,"  he  con- 
tinued a  little  mockingly,  "  but  whatever  is  press- 
ing me  onward  drives  me  on  as  a  wind  drives  a 
ship  on  to  the  rocks. " 

That  night  the  new  occupant,  Summers,  and 
John  Childress  slept  in  the  red  house,  the  first  in- 
habitants for  years.  By  the  next  night  it  was  more 
habitable,  and,  within  a  week  the  whole  county 
was  talking  of  the  millionaire  from  New  York 
who  had  leased  the  old  Le  Due  house,  of  his 
horses  and  fine  carriages,  his  many  servants  and 
the  extent  of  the  changes  he  made.  The  fact  that 
he  was  kin  to  Dulcie  DeWitt  and  had  shot  the 
doctor  for  trying  to  abuse  her  was  fine  food  for 
gossiping  tongues. 

Busy  as  he  was,  Lucian  did  not  forget  to  send  a 


94  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

daily  note  to  the  Colonel,  accompanied  by  some 
fruit  or  flowers  for  Mrs.  Buckman.  He  asked  for 
news  of  his  cousin  and  repeated  his  desire  to  see 
her  when  she  was  better.  He  also  invited  the  Colo- 
nel to  come  to  see  him  in  his  new  quarters,  add- 
ing that  he  hoped  the  day  would  soon  come  when 
he  could  ask  Mrs.  Buckman.  To  these  polite  es- 
says he  received  formal  little  notes  of  thanks, 
with  the  meagre  information  that,  as  yet,  Mrs. 
DeWitt  could  see  no  one.  This  went  on  for  a  fort- 
night and  Lucian  grew  restless.  He  felt  quite  re- 
lieved, one  afternoon,  to  see  Colonel  Buckman 
and  Beamer  Van  Wye  strolling  up  the  avenue  of 
Paradise,  and  he  went  forward  to  welcome  them 
with  a  glow  of  good  feeling  that  he  had  never  ex- 
perienced when  host  to  more  important  men 
whom  he  had  dined  and  wined  in  other  days. 

The  fat  Colonel  looked  about  him  at  the 
flower-set  terrace,  the  awnings  and  the  screens 
of  Indian  matting,  the  couches,  divans  and  fans, 
and  then  stared  at  the  Virginian  until  he  laughed 
aloud. 

"We're  slow  folks  here,"  he  said,  "but  you've 
brought  India  into  Kentucky.  Well,  you've  done 
wonders.  We've  got  to  treat  you  right  when  you 
are  spending  so  much  money  with  us,  eh, 
Beamer?" 

The  lawyer  laughed  also,  that  half-sad  note, 
and  followed  Lucian  with  his  eyes  as  he  stretched 


CHAPTER   SIX  95 

himself  out  on  his  divan.  John  went  busily  to  and 
fro  with  ices,  glasses  of  cooling  drinks,  and  fans. 
Lucian  was  at  his  best,  very  gay,  very  handsome, 
yet  always  with  that  singular  alertness  and  readi- 
ness that  was  more  attractive  than  his  beauty. 
He  might  have  been  an  East  Indian  of  high 
caste  among  his  present  surroundings,  and  his 
warm  pallor  and  white  clothing  aided  the  illu- 
sion. 

"The  Indian  boy  his  ancestor  adopted  was 
probably  a  Shewanee,"  mused  the  lawyer,  "and 
the  Shewanee,  of  all  the  Indian  tribes,  alone  cher- 
ished the  idea  that  he  had  originally  crossed  a 
great  water.  Who  knows  from  whence  came  this 
man  ?  There  are  in  him  strange  blendings  of 
prince  and  savage.  He  says,  'Fortune  and  I  are 
friends'  with  a  laugh.  Fate,  the  angels,  Satan, 
God  —  who  does  favour  him,  for  he  is  favoured 
among  mortals?" 

"How  is  my  cousin  and  Mrs.  Buckman  ?"  re- 
cited the  Colonel,  "and  I  bring  you  my  wife's 
message  that  you  can  call  on  Mrs.  DeWitt  to- 
morrow afternoon  for  an  hour." 

"How  is  DeWitt?" 

The  lawyer  replied: 

"  He  is  getting  on  very  well.  He  hasn't  any  par- 
ticular use  for  you. " 

"Very  likely.  What  about  the  Colonel  ?" 

"O,  the  Colonel  is  an  old  neighbour.  Besides, 


96  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

he  knows  right  where  the  Colonel  stands  in  re- 
spect to  his  past  conduct." 

"  Does  he  want  to  know  where  I  stand  ? "  asked 
Lucian,  coolly.  "I  can  send  out  my  opinion  to 
him  by  a  messenger  if  he  has  any  doubt  about  it. 
We  do  not  screen  actual  brutalities  down  East. 
We  publish  villainies  and  expose  criminals." 

"Now  you  are  a  resident,  you  must  be  more 
loyal  to  your  own  neighbourhood,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "Good  Lord!  What's  the  use  of  putting 
all  one's  family  affairs  into  the  newspapers  ?  It 
don't  do  any  good.  You're  too  rash,  my  dear 
fellow,  and  I'm  afraid  you  are  going  to  hear  your 
cousin,  far  removed,  tell  you  so  some  day. " 

A  chill  ran  down  Lucian's  back.  He  lifted  his 
cigar  and  said,  with  the  utmost  coolness: 

"That  may  be.  But  remember,  I  have  not  seen 
or  talked  to  my  cousin.  She  thinks  she  is  en- 
compassed in  hopeless  misery  even  as  the  Cubans 
were  shut  in  by  those  terrible  tangles  of  barbed 
wire.  She  may  see  with  my  eyes  later  on,  and 
free  herself." 

Beautiful  eyes  his  were,  with  a  look  of  deter- 
mination. The  Colonel  sighed  and  gave  himself 
up  to  the  delights  of  the  hour  as  expressed  by  an 
unlimited  amount  of  mint  julep,  good  cigars,  and 
a  story-teller  like  Beamer  Van  Wye  to  amuse 
one's  leisure. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

WHO  EVER  LOVED  THAT  LOVED  NOT  AT  FIRST  SIGHT? 

The  next  afternoon  Dulcinea  DeWitt  was 
resting  peacefully  on  a  low  couch  in 
the  wire-screened  north  porch  at  Broad 
Acres.  She  was  still  so  white  and  weak  that  Dr. 
Snow  talked  gravely  of  Northern  air  and  the 
benefits  of  a  change.  Her  white  gown,  one 
of  Mrs.  Buckman's,  was  hardly  whiter  than 
her  pinched  face,  in  which  her  large  eyes 
seemed  pathetically  round  and  childish.  As  yet 
the  woman  had  not  roused  from  her  apathetic 
surrender  to  despair.  She  never  would  know  all 
that  had  happened.  She  knew  that,  in  the  first 
awful  hours  of  her  terror  that  day,  she  had  tried 
to  escape  but  was  unsuccessful.  Beyond  that  was 
black  horror,  and  she  only  knew  that  she  was  now 
at  Broad  Acres  and  that  the  first  time  the  Colonel 
had  been  in  to  see  her  he  had  actually  cried  over 
her  declaring  he  would  never  send  her  home 


98  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

until  she  wanted  to  go.  In  time,  she  vaguely 
thought,  she  would  have  to  go  back,  but  now  she 
would  rest  —  and  wake  at  night  to  pray  that 
something,  anything,  death  itself  would  give  her 
future  rest  and  peace.  Sometimes  a  formless  re- 
solve agitated  her.  She  thought  of  death,  and  the 
thought,  once  cherished,  became  strangely  sweet 
to  her,  although  it  was  in  the  vaguest  way  and  as 
a  means  of  escape. 

At  times,  fleeting  impressions  held  her.  She  re- 
membered moonlight,  the  dog's  howls  and  cries, 
the  ride,  the  Colonel's  protecting  arms  and 
another  sense  of  protection  —  but  all  these  im- 
pressions were  like  dreams,  so  mysteriously, 
vaguely  indistinct.  She  asked  no  questions,  be- 
cause to  know  anything  surely  was  certain  mis- 
ery and  degradation.  The  Colonel  did  not  see  her 
often.  It  always  seemed  to  affect  him  to  a  strange 
degree.  She  grew  surer  and  surer  that  something 
terrible  had  happened  on  that  May  night. 

"Comp'ny  comin',  Mis'  Dulcie,"  said  Mrs. 
Buckman's  Milly,  armed  with  comb  and  brush, 
"I  got  tuh  fix  yuh  ha'r  nice." 

"Who  is  it?"  inquired  Dulcie,  languidly.  "It 
is  not  Dr.  Snow's  day." 

"Dunno.  Mis'  Sudie  done  tole  me  tuh  fix  yuh 
up  neat  an'  purty  for  comp'ny." 

As  Milly  fastened  up  the  abundant  braids  of 
hair  Mrs.  Buckman  came  in. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN  99 

"The  Colonel  is  going  to  bring  a  visitor,  Dul- 
cie,"  she  said  very  gently,  "a  gentleman  who  is  a 
sort  of  cousin  of  yours  —  quite  distant.  They 
have  got  those  papers  for  you  that  your  father 
always  wanted  to  get  from  Nancy  Manifold." 

"Really!"  exclaimed  Dulcie  with  a  show  of 
interest.  "  I  thought  Peter  Manifold  said  he  never 
would  give  them  up." 

"I  believe  his  second  wife  coaxed  him  to  do 
it,"  replied  Mrs.  Buckman  straightening  the  pil- 
low. "  She  seems  well  disposed  now,  though  she 
was  such  a  wild  girl.  She's  got  a  little  baby  and 
she  seems  to  be  making  Peter  a  good  wife. " 

"Nance  had  a  right  bad  disposition,"  ob- 
served Dulcie  languidly;  "no  one  could  get  on 
with  her  at  all.  Who  is  this  new  cousin,  Aunt  Su- 
die?" 

"  He  comes  from  the  East  and  is  out  here  buy- 
ing horses,  I  believe.  His  name  is  Beardsley. " 

Suddenly  a  flush  coloured  all  Dulcie's  face. 

"He  never  is  that  stranger  who  was  going  to 
buy  my  Cupid,  is  he  ?" 

Mrs.  Buckman  bowed  her  head  gravely  and 
said: 

"  I  didn't  know  you  knew  his  name.  Where  did 
you  hear  it  ?" 

"  O,  every  one  knew  that,  I  believe,  the  very 
next  day.  It  really  isn't  he,  is  it,  Aunt  Sudie  ?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  man.  He  didn't  know  then 


ioo  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

that  you  were  any  kin  to  him.  He  found  it  out  by 
accident  from  something  the  Colonel  said.  His 
great-grandmother  was  a  Willa  Childress.  He 
went  after  those  papers  Peter  Manifold  had,  but 
Kitty  May  was  bound  to  send  them  over  to  you, 
Dulcie." 

Dulcie  looked  thoughtful. 

"I  don't  want  to  see  any  one  at  all,  Aunt  Su- 
die,  unless  I  must.  So  he's  kin  or  he  claims  kin  ?" 

"He  claims  kin,"  said  Mrs.  Buckman,  "but 
it  is  certainly  a  great  ways  off,  and  don't  you 
be  carried  away  any  with  him.  He  is  very  differ- 
ent from  we  all,  and  his  ideas  are  different. 
You  know,"  rather  sadly,  "I'm  real  old-fash- 
ioned myself,  and  I  have  strong  notions  of  right 
and  wrong,  but  I  guess  they  are  the  best  ones  to 
have,  Dulcie  —  best,  after  all,  dear. " 

Dulcie  was  trembling  almost  to  tears. 

"I  don't  feel  equal  to  seeing  strangers  just 
yet,"  she  began  piteously,  but  the  door  opened 
and  the  Colonel,  very  red  in  the  face,  ushered  in 
Mr.  Lucian  Beardsley. 

Dulcie  half-raised  on  her  couch,  looked  across 
at  the  newcomer  with  all  her  surprise  in  her 
eyes.  To  him  she  seemed  a  wraith  of  a  woman, 
so  white  and  wan  was  she.  Her  awakened  soul 
was  in  her  eyes.  Why  had  he  come  into  her  life  ? 
He  was  such  a  man  as  she  had  rarely  seen  and 
never  come  in  contact  with  before,  and  it  gave  an 


CHAPTER  SEVEN  101 

undue  importance  to  the  hour  that  he  was  so 
faultlessly  dressed  and  so  well  groomed  and 
looked  a  very  prince  of  men  and  fortune.  Mrs. 
Buckman  was  groaning  in  spirit  as  she  scanned 
him,  but  it  is  plain  justice  to  her  to  say  that  she 
regarded  his  fashionable  raiment  as  only  so  much 
additional  temptation  to  Dulcie's  senses. 

The  Colonel's  tone  was  a  little  gruff. 

"This  is  Mr.  Lucian  Beardsley,"  he  said,  "a 
sort  of  cousin  of  yours,  although  far  removed. 
He  has  those  papers  from  Nancy  Manifold  that 
your  father  wanted  you  to  have." 

Lucian  advanced  with  the  black  box  in  his 
hand.  He  laid  it  on  the  couch  near  Dulcie's  thin 
hand  and  saw  absolute  fright  in  her  face  al- 
though he  spoke  in  a  winning  way. 

"I  have  so  few  kinsmen  and  women  that  I 
must  claim  even  distant  ones." 

"I  am  alone  myself,"  returned  Dulcie  impul- 
sively. 

Their  eyes  met.  Dulice's  hand  fluttered,  piti- 
lessly nervous,  over  the  box.  The  Virginian  drew 
up  a  chair  and  sat  beside  her.  Mrs.  Buckman,  in 
her  rocker,  knitted  on  fine  thread  lace  with  shin- 
ing needles.  The  Colonel,  on  the  other  side, 
smoked  his  pipe. 

"I  have  not  had  time  to  study  all  this  out  in 
my  mind,"  began  Lucian  softly,  "but  this  testa- 
ment and  medal  are  precious  indeed.  They  must 


i<»  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

have  come  from  France  with  our  first  ancestors, 
the  Huguenot  refugees,  nearly  two  hundred  years 
ago.  This  long,  coarse  black  hair  is  not  a  wo- 
man's. Could  it  have  been  that  of  our  Indian 
great-great-grandfather  ?  This  yellow  hair  may 
be  that  of  Willa  Childress,  for  my  grandfather's 
hair  was  once  as  yellow  as  this,  he  told  me.  And 
these  records,  my  cousin  ?  You  will  see  that  they 
are  almost  unbroken  and  that  from  our  same 
great-grandmother  comes  your  light  locks. 

Dulcie  listened  stupidly,  amazed.  It  was  too 
much  to  think  about  at  once,  and  she  was  weak. 
But  was  it  not  all  a  dream  ?  Was  this  man  really 
kin  to  her,  the  quiet  Kentucky  woman  full  of 
sorrows  and  griefs  ? 

"  I  do  want  to  be  good  to  you, "  went  on  Lu- 
cian  bravely,  "for  I  am  sure  you  need  a  cousin 
and  a  brother.  Do  let  me  say  it  to  you.  I  would 
like  to  see  you  happy. " 

The  word  was  unfortunate.  Dulcie  shrank 
back  and  her  lips  quivered.  Lucian  pulled  him- 
self up  bravely. 

"Yes,  I  mean  it.  My  brother  Fordyce  and  I  are 
able  to  do  something.  We  can  and  will  claim  you, 
and  if  you  do  not  want  to  stay  here  we  will  take 
you  far  away  from  your  troubles. " 

Dulcie  gazed  at  the  bold  speaker  as  a  bird  is 
fascinated  by  a  serpent.  Then  she  wept. 

"O,  Aunt  Sudie,  my  home,  my  dear  home!" 


CHAPTER  SEVEN  103 

"You  see  she  cannot  stand  words  ever  so  kind- 
ly meant,"  said  Mrs.  Buckman  at  her  side.  "I 
wanted  you  to  see  for  yourself.  She  is  not  strong 
and  must  be  calm." 

Lucian  rose. 

"I  can  wait  until  she  understands  the 
thought,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "I  meant  what  I 
said.  I  want  to  help  any  way  I  can,  but  it  will  all 
wait  a  while." 

"  I'll  be  blamed  if  I  see  just  how  you  are  going 
to  do  it,"  groaned  the  Colonel  as  they  descended 
the  portico  steps.  "You  see  you  are  not  used  to 
dealing  with  Kentucky  women,  and  that's  a  plain 
fact.  Dulcie  was  scared  out  in  one  moment.  She 
never  was  a  daring  girl  like  Kitty  May,  and  she 
isn't  a  daring  woman.  In  a  week  or  two  she  will 
go  back  to  Glen  Farm,  seeing  it  as  her  clear 
duty." 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  asked  Lucian,  stroking 
the  nose  of  a  hound  that  walked  beside  him. 
"I  thought  you  said  you  never  would  send  her 
back,  Colonel.  You  did  promise  it." 

"  I  never  will,"  said  the  Colonel  stoutly,  "  but 
she  will  choose  to  go.  There  is  something  queer 
about  women  —  our  women,  anyhow.  When 
they  once  see  their  duty,  they  just  march  through 
fire  and  water  to  do  it." 

"And,"  observed  Lucian  in  a  tone  that  the 
Colonel  had  learned  to  dread,  "you  still  think 


104  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

it  is  her  duty  to  return  to  Dr.  DeWitt  in  spite  of 
all  that  you  know  is  true  ?" 

"I  didn't  say  that,  didn't  say  that,"  retorted 
the  Colonel.  "  I  will  never  ask  her  to  return  nor 
allow  Mrs.  Buckman  to  mention  it  to  her  — 
that's  settled.  But  she'll  come  to  it  herself.  One 
thing,  her  business  affairs  are  at  a  pretty  pass. 
I  don't  doubt  from  what  I  hear  that  Glen  Farm 
and  Kentucky  Cupid  will  both  have  to  go.  By 
the  way,  I've  got  that  horse  here.  Want  to  see 
him  ?  Dulcie  sent  for  him  as  soon  as  she  could 
sit  up." 

An  hour  later  Lucian  was  closeted  with 
Beamer  Van  Wye  in  his  shabby  office.  Both 
men  were  smoking  furiously. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  who  holds  Glen  Farm  mort- 
gage," declared  the  lawyer.  "You  must  move 
with  caution,  Beardsley.  You  don't  want  that 
place  anyhow.  It  is  only  fit  for  grazing." 

In  Lucian  Beardsley's  soul  the  words  burned: 

"O,  my  home,  my  home!" 

"Buy  it  and  the  horse  if  you  can,  and  I'll 
keep  them  for  her.  She  is  going  to  be  free.  I  see 
it  in  her  eyes,  Van  Wye.  She  is  like  an  animal 
gathering  strength  for  a  leap." 

"Yet  you  have  seen  her  but  three  times  in 
your  life,"  mused  the  lawyer. 

"Three  —  or  three  thousand.  It  is  all  the 
same  to  me.  There  is  a  time  when  the  people 


CHAPTER  SEVEN  105 

live,  measure  quickly,  decide  with  strength  or 
lose  life's  favours.  She  is  the  only  woman  re- 
lative I  care  to  claim.  Since  I  have  found  her 
I  seem  changed  by  her  need  of  me.  Buy  the  farm 
and  secure  the  horse  if  you  can.  Arrange  it 
quietly." 

"You  will  fall  foul  of  DeWitt  yet." 

"Maybe.  What  can  he  do  ?  The  drug  store  is 
the  great  comfort  of  his  existence.  He  can  live 
anywhere." 

"  His  wife  may  follow  him." 

Beamer  Van  Wye  reached  down  his  ancient 
hat. 

"It  is  warm  within.  Let  us  walk  toward 
Paradise,"  he  continued. 

The  two  strolled  along  under  the  trees  and 
had  walked  quite  a  distance  before  the  lawyer 
again  spoke. 

"Beardsley,  you  must  not  persuade  that  wo- 
man from  her  husband." 

Lucian  flushed  darkly.  His  sidewise  glance 
was  almost  savage  in  its  defiance. 

"There  you  go!  Is  every  one  leagued  against 
the  rescue  of  my  cousin  from  degradation  and 
misery?  I  mean  to  tell  her  that  I  will  be  her 
kinsman,  her  protector  — 

He  stopped  short.  There  was  a  fierce  light  or 
gleam  in  Beamer  Van  Wye's  eye  that  he  did 
not  like. 


106  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"You  mean,"  said  the  lawyer,  "that  in  your 
kind  rashness  you  would  ask  Mrs.  DeWitt  to 
commit  a  folly  that  she  would  repent  most  bit- 
terly in  after  years." 

"What  folly?" 

"Leaving  her  husband  on  your  account." 

In  spite  of  himself  Lucian  grew  white. 

"I  merely  mean  to  help  her." 

"I  believe  that  is  true  now,  but,  Beardsley, 
I  have  always  felt  that  that  woman  has  never, 
never  been  what  she  could  be  if  she  had  had  a 
chance.  I  mean  that  she  is  like  a  blighted  rose, 
and,  somehow  —  though  you  may  not  yet  know 
it  —  you  feel  it,  also,  now  don't  you  ?  You  long 
to  see  what  she  would  be  if  there  were  other 
conditions  and  she  was  under  other  influ- 
ences. Do  you  want  to  ruin  her  future  for  a 
whim?" 

They  were  slowly  entering  the  gates  of  Para- 
dise. From  the  high  arch  the  luxuriant  rose- 
wreaths  hung.  In  the  garden  birds  twittered 
and  chirped  about  the  great  beds  of  flowers  and 
over  the  old  sun-dial.  Under  the  awnings  where 
the  light  winds  moved  could  be  seen  willow 
couches,  the  cushioned  easy-chairs  and  old  John 
grinning  in  an  expectant  welcome.  The  lawyer 
went  on  very  softly: 

"A  stormy,  dissatisfied  childhood,  a  dis- 
appointment in  marriage  —  I  would  not  like 


CHAPTER   SEVEN  107 

to  think  of  Dulcie  DeWitt's  future  made  any 
darker  by  the  breath  of  scandal,  would  you  ?" 

There  was  a  silence,  broken  only  by  their  foot- 
steps on  the  fresh  gravel.  Finally  the  Virginian 
spoke: 

"  Is  there  nothing  —  in  your  opinion  —  that 
I  can  do  safely  ?" 

"O,  yes.  Save  the  farm  and  the  house  if  you 
will.  Brighten  her  life  by  kindly  words,  but  do 
not  influence  her  at  all  as  to  her  husband  or 
her  future.  Let  that  work  itself  out." 

"She  may  leave  him  of  her  own  accord," 
flashed  out  the  younger  man,  "and  then  ?" 

"Then  —  then  —  if  you  had  honestly  never 
interfered  —  I  would  honour  you  and  bid  you 
Godspeed,  Beardsley." 

The  tall  Virginian  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the 
terrace  steps.  His  face  was  inscrutably  grave, 
his  eyes  were  alight.  He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Van  Wye,  I  have  never  yet  played  the  delib- 
erate rascal.  I  suppose  that  you  are  right.  I 
have  felt  that  in  regard  to  women  I  was  some- 
what different  from  my  fellow-men.  Perhaps 
that  was  all  a  mistake,  for  we  all  make  mis- 
takes in  life.  I  have  never  felt  —  towards  others 
-  exactly  as  I  do  towards  her.  She  is  a  kins- 
woman, but  I  would  not  hurt  her.  O,  no!  I 
will  never  persuade  her.  I  will  even  go  away  — 
for  a  little  while  —  and  then  we  shall  see.  I  will 


io8  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

go  to  Cincinnati  myself,  Van  Wye,  and  see 
whether  she  chooses  to  return  to  Glen  Farm. 
How  will  that  do?" 

For  an  answer  the  lawyer  passed  his  arm 
around  his  companion's  shoulder. 

"Some  day  you  will  see  matters  more  clearly. 
I  know,  yes,  I  know  all  that  you  feel.  You  are 
right;  and,  now,  when  will  you  go  ?  When  will 
you  go  ?" 

"To-morrow,"  replied  Lucian  clearly,  "to- 
morrow night.  And,  in  the  afternoon,  I  will  go 
once  more  to  Broad  Acres  and  tell  them  I  am 
called  away.  She  will  get  strong  and  will  decide. 
I  may  never  see  her  again.  One  can  never  cal- 
culate on  a  Kentucky  woman's  mind,  the  Colo- 
nel says.  I  will  go  to  Cincinnati  and  Chicago, 
and  buy  pretty  things  for  Paradise.  Let  us  go 
in,  Van  Wye.  Dinner  is  served  and  I  am  in  no 
mood  to  eat  it  alone." 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

WITH  GRIEF  THAT'S  BEAUTY'S  CANKER 

DULCINEA  DEWITT  was  roused  by  the 
Virginian's  visit  to  a  more  hopeless 
agony  than  she  had  ever  felt.  She  could 
not  decide  on  a  future  course,  although  a  resolve 
seemed  forming  itself  even  against  her  will.  It 
was  that  she  could  not  return  to  Glen  Farm. 
How  to  act,  where  to  turn,  her  future  abiding 
place  —  all  these  questions  came  into  her  mind 
on  awaking  and  finally  haunted  the  hours  when 
she  could  have  slept.  The  waters  of  bitter- 
ness flooded  her  soul  even  while  she  cried  in 
secret,  "God  forgive  me,  but  I  can  never  re- 
turn!" 

Presently  she  grew  sensitive  because  of  the 
really  strained  atmosphere  about  her.  Her  dead 
father  seemed  to  return  in  dreams  and,  with  his 
severe  yet  sweet  smile,  bid  her  endure  to  the 
very  end.  She  thought  this  a  cruel  suffering  and 
109 


no  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

her  outraged  womanhood  said  sternly,  "I  can- 
not!" 

A  week  of  this  so  tormented  Dulcie  that  she 
was  alarmingly  nervous  and  weak.  Mrs.  Buck- 
man  besought  the  Grafton  doctor  for  stronger 
tonics  but  he  shook  his  head. 

"What  is  the  use  ?"  he  asked. 

"Then  she  will  die." 

The  Colonel  groaned. 

"To  make  matters  worse,  Dr.  DeWitt  has 
written  me,  demanding  her  immediate  return. 
He  knows  that  she  can  walk  on  the  porches  - 
trust  negro  gossip  for  that.  What  can  we  do  ?" 

Mrs.  Buckman  grew  red  with  anger. 

"  Dulcie  is  not  going  anywhere  while  she  is  so 
ill.  Tell  him  that." 

"He  threatened  that  he  will  advertise  her." 

Colonel  Buckman's  smile  was  more  bitter. 

"Trouble  has  just  begun,  Sudie.  What  does 
Dulcie  want  to  do  ?  Has  she  spoken  of  the  mat- 
ter?" 

The  wife  shook  her  head  and  went  out  with 
the  doctor.  When  she  returned  she  said  sadly: 

"Dr.  Snow  will  not  say  anything  encouraging. 
You  can  leave  that  matter  unanswered,  Robert." 

The  doctor  had  hinted  at  Northern  air  and 
a  change.  The  second  day  after  his  visit  Dulcie 
was  roused  from  one  of  her  painful  reveries 
by  the  sounds  of  a  lively  altercation  coming 


CHAPTER   EIGHT  in 

from  the  stable  yard.  It  was  the  Colonel's  voice 
and  raised  in  high  anger: 

"  How  dare  you  come  to  Broad  Acres  ?  One 
would  think  you  would  never  show  your  cow- 
ard's face  anywhere." 

"I  came  after  my  wife,"  was  the  reply  in  an 
angry,  snarling  tone  that  she  at  once  recognized. 
"She  is  able  to  come  home,  and  you  carried  her 
away  from  my  house  anyhow.  I'll  make  you  all 
pay  for  it  —  you  all  coming  between  a  man  and 
his  wife  that  way,  shooting  a  man  on  his  own 
place,  and  that's  what  you  did,  Colonel  Buck- 
man." 

Dulcie's  heart  stood  still  for  the  Colonel's 
next  words.  She  was,  for  the  moment,  full  of 
wild  terror.  The  Colonel's  voice  answered,  firm 
and  sonorous  now. 

"Your  wife  is  here,  but  it  will  be  only  God's 
goodness  if  she  is  ever  well  again.  And  she 
shall  never  go  from  here  again,  Delby  DeWitt, 
unless  of  her  own  free  will.  Do  you  hear  that, 
man  ?" 

The  ugly  voice  rose  again : 

"D'ye  hear  that,  Mulvihill  ?  He  refuses  to 
give  me  my  wife  up  or  even  to  let  me  see  her. 
D'ye  hear  that,  Graham  ?" 

"You're  all  a  set  of  regular  scoundrels!"  cried 
the  Colonel  hotly.  "A  nice  lot  of  men  you  are 
coming  here  to  pounce  upon  a  sick  woman.  No, 


iiz  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

you  cannot  see  her  and  never  shall  see  her  if  I 
have  my  way." 

Pressing  her  face  close  against  the  screen,  Dul- 
cie  saw  Mrs.  Buckman  hurrying  out  over  the 
grass  plot.  Again  the  high  voice  she  dreaded 
came  to  her  ears: 

"You  all  are  keeping  my  wife  from  me.  I  can 
have  action  against  you,  can't  I  Mulvihill  ?  Mr. 
Mulvihill  is  one  of  my  lawyers,  Mrs.  Buckman." 

"We  are  not  keeping  your  wife  from  you," 
said  that  lady  very  haughtily;  "she  is  ill  and  we 
are  caring  for  her  as  her  friends." 

"She  must  come  home.  You  all  are  standing 
between  husband  and  wife.  I'll  recover  dam- 
ages, I  will!  I  know  my  rights." 

The  Colonel's  rage  had  been  steadily  growing. 

"  Leave  my  place  or  there  will  be  trouble.  Get 
out,  all  of  you!"  he  ordered. 

But  Dulcie,  in  her  thin  wrapper  and  slippers, 
was  in  their  midst,  Milly  dragging  at  her  vainly. 
In  amazement  the  men  fell  back.  Dulcie's  eyes, 
always  large  and  pathetic,  were  blazing  with 
a  new  wrath. 

"Go  home,  Delby  DeWitt,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "go  home  and  go  alone.  These  people  are 
not  keeping  me  here.  I  will  never  return  to 
Glen  Farm  as  your  wife.  It  shall  be  sold  and  the 
debts  paid.  That  is  my  word  —  now  go!" 

"O  Dulcie,  Dulcie,  do  be  careful!"  cried  Mrs. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT  113 

Buckman,  "do  be  careful  what  you  say.  You 
may  feel  different  and  forgiving  when  you're 
well.  Don't  say  that!" 

"I  never  will  go  back,"  announced  Dulcie 
as  quietly  as  before.  "I  want  you  all  to  bear 
witness  that  I  never  will  go  back.  I  have  borne 
enough.  No  one  has  said  one  word  to  me.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  it  myself." 

The  Colonel  shook  his  heavy  whip. 

"Hearing  that,  perhaps  you  all  will  leave 
my  premises  in  short  order.  The  day  of  reckon- 
ing is  about  here,  DeWitt,  and  it's  been  too  long 
coming.  That  mortgage  business  ought  to  be 
closed  up  at  once.  We'll  try  to  save  something 
for  Mrs.  DeWitt  if  it  can  be  done.  Sudie,  you 
take  Dulcie  into  the  house.  The  hands  are  com- 
ing and  will  clear  the  place." 

True  enough  it  was  that  the  hands,  warned 
by  a  flying  black  urchin,  were  now  running  in 
from  the  fields  armed  with  their  heavy  hoes  and 
rakes.  The  Colonel  was  a  popular  master;  his 
negroes  looked  a  formidable  gang. 

Dulcie  walked  back  to  the  screened  portico 
and  sat  down  with  a  new  vigour  in  her. 

"I  do  mean  it,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Buckman, 
"I  mean  it.  I've  been  coming  to  it  for  weeks, 
months,  years.  I  never  will  go  back!" 

Mrs.  Buckman  threw  her  black  apron  up  to 
her  eyes  and  wept. 


H4  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"  It  is  a  terrible  thing  after  your  training  — 
and  your  fathah's  wishes  and  what  we  all  have 
done  for  you." 

"My!"  said  Dulcie,  astonished,  "did  you  all 
expect  I  would  go  back  ?" 

Mrs.  Buckman  sobbed  and  nodded. 

"I  suppose  we  all  did,  Dulcie.  We  depended 
on  what  you've  been  doing  all  along,  being  so 
patient,  so  enduring.  I  suppose  we  all  did  think 
you  would." 

"Well,  I  will  not,"  said  Dulcie  coolly. 

"O,  lie  down,  do  lie  down,"  said  the  older 
woman  hysterically,  "I  know  you  have  a  fever 
or  something.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  do.  He  is 
your  husband,  you  know.  All  men  are  trying 
at  times  and  you  have  had  a  great  cross  put  upon 
you.  But  don't  you  say  that,  for  you  will  go  back 
when  you  are  better,  I  am  sure." 

"No,"  repeated  Dulcie,  "no,  and  I'm  better 
for  having  said  it.  It  stood  in  the  way  of  my 
getting  well,  Aunt  Sudie.  I  didn't  have  the  spiritto 
say  it  before.  I  wanted  to  decide  badly  enough." 

"But  to  say  it  so  publicly!  O,  Dulcie,  it  will 
be  all  over  the  county  to-morrow  and  you'll 
be  disgraced!" 

"Me  disgraced!"  retorted  Dulcie  with  a  new 
spirit,  "me  disgraced  ?  What  have  I  done  ?  I've 
been  disgraced  for  years  and  years,  and  that's 
true,  by  what  he  has  done." 


CHAPTER  EIGHT  115 

"But  to  come  right  out  there  —  and  before 
the  lawyers  and  the  other  men  —  and  say  that!" 

"I  did  it  to  save  the  Colonel.  They  cannot 
say  that  you  all  influenced  me  now.  I  am  not 
going  to  be  afraid  of  anything,  never  any  more, 
Aunt  Sudie.  I  am  going  to  live  another  life  and 
be  another  woman  if  I  can." 

Mrs.  Buckman  rocked  wildly  to  and  fro,  sob- 
bing: 

"I  knew  your  mothah  and  your  fathah.  She 
was  such  a  good  woman!  O,  Dulcie,  I  hope  you 
all  are  never  going  to  hurt  us  by  your  actions. 
We  all  have  set  such  a  store  by  you." 

Dulcie  was  pinning  up  her  hair  in  its  every- 
day fashion. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Sudie,"  she  said,  pausing  with  the 
hair-brush  uplifted,  "I  believe  I  can  be  a  better 
woman  than  ever  before.  I  feel  like  I  can  soon 
believe  in  a  God.  Lately  I  only  knew  that  there 
was  a  hell." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"  It  will  come  to  me,  I  suppose.  I  want  to  get 
the  business  cleared  up  first.  I  do  not  feel  weak 
at  all,  Aunt  Sudie.  I  want  the  Colonel  to  send 
for  Mr.  Van  Wye  and  talk  it  over.  It  seems  of 
no  use  for  me  to  try  to  save  Glen  Farm  —  in 
fact,  I  don't  want  it.  I  suppose  Cupid  must  go, 
too,  but  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  everything 
-  anything." 


ii6  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

It  was  a  sad  household  for  the  rest  of  the  day, 
and,  when  the  excitement  died  away,  Dulcie  be- 
came more  and  more  conscious  of  the  strong 
disapproval  in  Mrs.  Buckman.  The  Colonel  did 
not  appear  at  dinner  and  it  was  not  until  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  that  he  drove  up  with 
Beamer  Van  Wye  in  the  buggy.  He  looked  tired 
and  irritable. 

"Is  Dulcie  able  to  come  out  here  ?"  he  asked 
after  being  soothed  by  several  iced  drinks  and 
much  fanning.  "That  mortgage  business  is 
going  to  be  complicated  by  her  refusal  to  re- 
turn to  Glen  Farm.  Does  she  still  stick  to 
it?  Is  that  what  you  are  so  red-eyed  about, 
Susan?" 

Dulcie  came  out  presently  with  a  wan  little 
smile  that  went  straight  to  the  Colonel's  heart. 

"You  made  a  fine  talk  for  my  sake,  didn't 
you?"  he  asked  gruffly.  "Who  set  you  up  to 
think  you  could  live  without  going  back  to  Glen 
Farm?" 

"Nobody.  I  will  not  go,"  replied  Dulcie 
slowly. 

"  How  long  since  you  have  made  up  your  mind 
to  that?" 

"  It's  been  making  itself  up  a  long  time,  Col- 
onel." 

"Humph!  Don't  you  feel  any  duty  to  go  ?  He 
was  the  father  of  your  children.  Don't  you  re- 


CHAPTER  EIGHT  117 

member  that  ?  You  can  never  get  rid  of  those 
happenings  that  have  been  in  your  life." 

Dulcie's  throat  quivered. 

"Do  you  think  I've  forgotten  that  ?"  she  asKed 
piteously.  "It  has  been  a  chain  on  me  for  years." 

"So  you  mean  to  abandon  him  ?" 

She  bowed  her  head. 

"  Who's  going  to  take  care  of  you  ?  Now  I 
don't  mean  I'm  going  to  turn  you  out,  but  I'm 
not  young.  How  will  you  live  on  alone  ?  You 
never  was  any  account  for  hard  work,  Dulcie." 

Dulcie  bowed  her  head  anew. 

"  You  can't  run  the  farm  if  we  could  save  it. 
You  can't  manage  Cupid  on  the  racetrack. 
You  see  you  must  consider  all  these  things  now 
that  your  father  has  gone.  You're  just  a  nice, 
pretty,  sweet,  easy  creature  that  needs  some  one 
to  care  for  her  mighty  bad.  What  will  you  do 
alone,  Dulcie  ?" 

Dulcie  shook  her  head  under  this  speech  and 
her  eyes  filled. 

"Hadn't  you  better  reconsider  it  and  try  a 
while  longer?" 

Then  Dulcie  broke  down,  but  she  cried  out 
between  her  sobs : 

"I  will  never  go  back  if  I  starve,  Colonel, 
never  go  back  !  " 

Mrs.  Buckman  came  to  the  rescue. 

"If  she   will    not   go,    don't    persecute    her, 


ii8  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

Robert.  She  is  suffering  enough  and  she  knows 
how  we  stand." 

The  Colonel  sniffed  ominously. 

"There's  no  way  for  you  to  get  this  property 
question  straightened  out,  Dulcie,  without  a 
legal  separation." 

Dulcie  regarded  him  with  unbelieving  eyes. 
"A  what?" 

"A  legal  separation,  a  divorce." 

"I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing,  Colonel. 
Can't  I  just  live  away,  keep  away,  like  I'm 
doing?" 

The  ominous  clouds  cleared  from  the  Colo- 
nel's brow,  while  Beamer  Van  Wye  actually 
smiled. 

"O,  you  are  not  after  a  divorce  ?" 

"Never  thought  of  it  once,"  retorted  Dulcie 
with  much  spirit;  "I  only  want  to  keep  away. 
I  want  Mr.  Van  Wye  to  go  and  get  my  clothes 
and  a  few  things,  and  sell  the  rest  and  the  place 
to  pay  off  the  mortgage." 

The  men  consulted  together  for  a  few  mo- 
ments and  then  the  Colonel  said,  more  cordially: 

"Well,  time  does  smooth  over  a  great  many 
things.  I  guess  we  can  fix  matters  up  so  they 
can  run  along  a  little  while,  Susan,  and  that's 
the  best  way  out.  I  talked  to  the  doctor  from 
Grafton  and  he  wants  Dulcie  to  go  to  the  moun- 
tains for  a  few  weeks.  I  reckon  it  would  clear 


CHAPTER   EIGHT  119 

the  air  a  heap  if  you  would  take  her  over  to  Old 
Sweet,  and,  maybe,  matters  will  take  another 
turn  when  you  come  back." 

Two  days  later  Lucian  Beardsley,  waiting 
impatiently  in  a  Cincinnati  hotel,  received  a 
long  letter  from  Beamer  Van  Wye  that  made 
him  thoughtful  enough.  It  gave  an  outline  of 
the  scene  in  the  stable-yard,  Dulcie's  decision, 
and  her  strong  expression  on  the  divorce  ques- 
tion. It  ended  up  with  the  news  that  Kentucky 
Cupid  would  be  his  within  a  week  and  that  Colo- 
nel Buckman  had  sent  his  wife  and  Dulcie  to 
some  springs  in  Virginia  of  which  the  lawyer 
carelessly  forgot  to  mention  the  name. 


CHAPTER  NINE 

HERE'S  TO  THE  PANG  THAT  PINCHES 

I  SAW  no  reason  why  I  should  not  return," 
laughed  LuciantoBeamerVanWyethenext 
night  on  the  terrace;  "this  is  the  only  home  I 
possess,    and    Cincinnati    is    hotter     than    the 
hottest  at  this  season.  I  might  have  gone  to  Vir- 
ginia, it  is  true,  but  this  seemed  to  me  the  best 
place  on  earth.  I  do  not  like  to  see  you  look  so 
grave  over  it." 

"There  is  so  much  in  the  future,"  replied  the 
lawyer,  "  and  we  all  feel  as  if  we  were  walking 
on  eggshells.  Glen  Farm  should  be  sold  and 
DeWitt  is  constantly  in  company  with  Mulvi- 
hill  and  Graham,  as  rascally  a  pair  of  petti- 
foggers as  you  could  find.  DeWitt  is  drinking, 
also,  and  he  vows  vengeance  on  every  one  con- 
nected with  the  affair  in  every  Middleport  and 
Grafton  saloon.  I  hope  he  will  not  hear  of  your 
return  or  know  that  you  have  purchased  Ken- 

120 


CHAPTER  NINE  121 

tucky  Cupid.  He  declares  that  the  horse  is  his 
and  not  Dulcie's  and  he  also  claims  one-third  his 
price  of  Glen  Farm  if  sold." 

"  I  shall  send  the  horse  up  to  Churchill  Downs 
at  once,"  said  Lucian  a  little  stiffly.  "How  is  the 
Colonel  ? " 

"  He  misses  Mrs.  Buckman  every  hour.  They 
are  strangely  congenial,  you  know.  I  am  sure 
that  she  is  as  lonesome  as  he  is  but  conscien- 
tiously goes  the  rounds  each  day  and  drinks 
sixteen  glasses  of  spring  water.  They  say  Mrs. 
DeWitt  is  better." 

In  the  perfumed  darkness  of  the  rose  terrace 
Lucian  Beardsley  sat  a  long  time  after  the  law- 
yer left  him.  He  had  been  anxious  to  return  to 
Paradise,  but  now  it  seemed  strangely  empty 
to  him.  Or  was  the  emptiness,  the  loneliness  in 
his  own  heart  ?  He  half  wished  he  had  not  come 
to  Kentucky,  that  he  had  never  heard  of  Ken- 
tucky Cupid  and  his  fair  owner.  But  Dulcie, 
poor  Dulcie,  whose  evil  days  were  at  hand  - 
who  else  would  be  her  champion  if  he  failed  her  ? 

He  tried  to  picture  her,  pale  and  sedate  under 
Mrs.  Buckman's  wing  at  one  of  the  Virginia 
springs  where  Southern  people  congregate  dur- 
ing the  summer  months.  He  wondered  if  she 
would  not  look  at  the  gaiety  of  the  young  with 
longing  eyes.  To  his  advanced  ideas  her  mar- 
riage might  be  no  bar  to  enjoyment,  but  he 


m  THE  ANCIENT   LANDMARK 

doubted  Mrs.  Buckman's  acquiescence  in  such 
ideas  and  felt  much  comforted.  He  wondered 
if  Dulcie  would  be  sought  at  all  among  the 
happier  women.  She  was  not  exactly  beautiful, 
but  that  subtle  and  intangible  charm  of  hers 
would  never  pass  unnoticed  by  men. 

His  doubts  on  this  point  was  set  at  rest  by 
a  letter  that  the  Colonel  showed  him.  He  was 
very  lonesome  and  heartily  glad  to  see  Lucian 
or  any  one.  He  read  from  his  wife's  last  letter: 

"  Dulcie  is  getting  along  finely  now,  and  I  never 
saw  any  one  improve  as  she  is  doing.  She  has 
a  great  deal  of  attention  shown  her  for  no  one 
knows  her  sad  story.  I  would  come  home  next 
week  if  it  was  not  for  her.  We  never  mention  any 
unpleasant  happenings  of  the  past.  I  am  anxious 
to  be  at  home  and,  if  you  think  it  wise,  I  will 
return  and  leave  her  with  Mrs.  Doctor  Hampton 
of  Louisville,  who  will  remain  here  a  month 
longer.  Dulcie  has  no  inclination  to  be  gay. 
People  think  she  is  a  widow  and  we  never  say 
anything.  I  am  going  to  send  her  a  few  things 
from  Lexington  if  her  affairs  are  so  you  can 
get  her  a  little  money." 

"  I  am  going  to  write  and  tell  her  to  stay  and 
have  out  her  fling,"  chuckled  the  Colonel.  "Mrs. 
Doctor  Hampton  is  as  careful  as  Sudie  herself, 
and  I  really  don't  want  Dulcie  to  come  home. 
I  don't  know  how  to  spare  her  the  money  out 


CHAPTER  NINE  izj 

of  the  mix  up  her  affairs  are  in,  but  I  guess  I'll 
have  to  make  it  somehow." 

"I'll  put  another  hundred  on  to  Kentucky 
Cupid  if  you  will  send  it  right  up  to  my  cousin," 
proposed  Lucian  coolly.  "  I  can  not  fix  it  up  in 
any  other  way,  I  suppose." 

"The  horse  is  worth  the  money,"  said  the 
Colonel,  "so  I'll  go  you.  She  can  stay  up  there 
two  weeks  more  and  have  some  clothes  on  that. 
She'll  come  back  well  and  strong  and  see  every- 
thing in  its  true  light.  She  won't  be  sick  and 
morbid." 

Beamer  Van  Wye  took  a  different  view  of  the 
delay. 

"You  remember  what  I  told  you  about  Mrs. 
DeWitt.  If  I  am  not  mistaken  it  will  only  make 
her  the  more  determined  to  live  a  different  life. 
There  is  a  great  deal  more  to  her  than  has  ever 
shown  itself." 

Soon  Mrs.  Buckman  returned  from  Virginia, 
herself  improved  in  health  and  with  glowing 
accounts  of  Dulcie's  recovery  and  brightness, 
her  docility  and  better  spirits.  Kentucky  Cupid 
was  still  at  Broad  Acres  stables,  as  he  had  had 
a  slight  touch  of  a  prevalent  equine  complaint 
and  Colonel  Buckman  wanted  to  give  him  his 
personal  attention.  He  was  later  to  go  to  Louis- 
ville and  into  a  trainer's  hands. 

The  two  weeks  sped  by.  It  was  sultry  August 


124  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

weather  when  Dulcie  returned  from  Virginia. 
Events  seemed  at  a  standstill  until  her  return. 
The  Colonel  and  his  wife  were  in  wait  for  her 
at  the  railroad  station  when  the  train  came  in. 
They  noted,  not  without  some  concern,  that  Dr. 
DeWitt  was  also  there  with  his  old  buggy  and 
his  brown  mare.  The  Colonel  grasped  his  heavy 
whip  firmly  and  stood  upon  the  platform  where 
he  expected  the  train  to  pull  in  and  Dulcie  to 
alight. 

It  went  on  much  farther,  however,  and  when 
the  Colonel  first  saw  Dulcie  she  was  in  the 
clutches  of  her  husband's  strong  fingers.  As 
he  approached  with  hasty  footsteps  he  saw 
how  beautiful  returning  health  had  made  her. 
She  was  pale,  but  her  lips  were  firm  and  her 
cheek  full. 

"I  will  not  go  with  you,"  she  said  quietly 
as  the  Colonel  approached. 

"You  must,  you  are  my  wife,"  declared  the 
doctor.  "Come  along,  I  have  the  law  on  my 
side.  I  can  make  you  and  no  one  can  interfere 
with  me." 

She  endeavoured  to  wrench  her  arm  loose 
from  his  grasp. 

"I  will  not  go.  I  am  going  to  Broad  Acres 
with  Colonel  Buckman." 

"You  are  going  to  Glen  Farm  where  you  be- 
long. If  you  go  to  Colonel  Buckman's  house 


CHAPTER  NINE  125 

I'll  have  him  in  court  on  a  writ  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

The  doctor  could  say  no  more,  for  the  Colonel's 
strong  arm  lifted  him  quite  off  the  platform  and 
tossed  him  across  the  track.  At  that  moment 
Lucian  Beardsley,  followed  by  Summers  and 
Beamer  Van  Wye,  came  rushing  down  the  plat- 
form. 

The  doctor  arose  from  mud  and  cinders  with 
an  ashen  face.  Lucian  seized  Dulcie  and  hur- 
ried her  off  to  the  carriage,  but  her  husband 
shouted  after  her  wildly: 

"Just  wait  until  to-morrow  and  you  are  drag- 
ged into  court,  Madam." 

Dulcie  was  still  very  pale  but  walked  proudly 
through  the  gathering  crowd. 

"Can  he  do  it  ?"  she  asked  Beamer  Van  Wye. 

"He  may  be  able  to  annoy  you  by  some  pro- 
cedure," he  said  reluctantly. 

Mrs.  Buckman  was  shedding  tears  of  mortifi- 
cation and  despair. 

"What  disgrace!  What  a  terrible  exposure 
again!"  she  lamented  as  Lucian  placed  Dulcie 
in  the  carriage.  "It  has  spoiled  all  our  pleasure 
in  your  return.  I  do  wonder  if  this  is  to  be  kept 
up." 

Dulcie's  colour  rose  and  she  glanced  at  her 
kinsman  with  a  proud  scorn  that  he  noted  with 
pain. 


126  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"It  cannot  be  allowed  to  last,"  he  said  decid- 
edly; "steps  must  be  taken  for  my  cousin's  pro- 
tection, you  can  see. " 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  what  they  will  be," 
Mrs.  Buckman  said. 

The  Colonel  came  up  much  flustered  and  very 
angry. 

"  I  suppose  Mulvihill  is  at  the  bottom  of  this 
move.  I  wish  we  had  kept  you  away  a  while 
longer,  Dulcie.  He  will  probably  have  me  arrest- 
ed to-morrow." 

"  May  I  ride  out  with  you,  Colonel  ? "  asked 
the  younger  man.  "  Either  Mr.  Van  Wye  or  my- 
self should  go. " 

"We  will  have  Beamer,"  said  Mrs.  Buckman, 
as  coldly  as  before;  "we  can  send  him  home  later 
on." 

Lucian  bowed.  His  eyes  met  Dulcie's.  Surely 
her  lips  formed  one  word,  but  he  could  not  be  sure 
of  it.  Was  it  the  word  "  to-night, "  and  what  could 
"to-night"  mean?  He  could  not  ask,  he  could 
only  surmise.  He  went  home  racked  with  doubts 
and  fears. 

After  his  dinner  he  bade  Summers  have  his 
fleetest  saddle-horse  brought  and  he  rode  to  the 
village  to  see  Beamer  Van  Wye.  Shortly  after  twi- 
light the  Colonel's  own  man  drove  the  lawyer  in 
and  Lucian  followed  him  most  anxiously  into  the 
dusty  little  office. 


CHAPTER  NINE  1*7 

"  Mrs.  Buckman  is  much  worried  and  offend- 
ed, "  said  the  lawyer,  "  and  with  good  reason.  I  do 
not  see  but  that  Mrs.  DeWitt  must  leave  Grafton 
at  least  for  a  time. " 

"Where  will  she  go?"  grieved  Lucian;  "any- 
where else  it  would  be  worse,  for  no  one  knows 
her  real  troubles. " 

"She  must  'he  perdu'  somewhere,  I  suppose, 
or  go  far  away.  DeWitt  will  never  let  her  alone 
about  here." 

"How  about  Paradise?"  asked  Lucian.  "I 
will  establish  her  there  and  never  set  foot  within 
its  doors. " 

"He  could  enter,"  said  Van  Wye,  "and  it 
would  make  a  fine  story.  She  is  really  in  a  sad 
dilemma.  Mrs.  Buckman  has  been  most  patient 
until  now." 

There  seemed  little  more  to  say,  and  Lucian 
turned  away.  As  he  passed  out  of  the  gate  toward 
the  horse-block  the  lawyer  came  out  to  the  door. 

"  By  the  way,  Mrs.  DeWitt  said  for  me  to  tell 
you  not  to  forget  a  message  she  gave  you.  I  do  not 
know  what  she  meant,  as  she  hurried  out  after  I 
was  in  the  buggy.  Probably  you  know  it." 

"All  right,"  ventured  Lucian.  He  walked  his 
horse  through  Grafton,  but  once  in  the  country 
he  rode  off  at  a  gallop;  his  thoughts  were  busy 
enough. 

To-night  ?  Surely  she  had  formed  those  words 


128  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

as  he  looked  at  her.  He  would  later  go  on  to 
Broad  Acres,  ostensibly  to  see  his  horse.  It  was 
nearly  eleven  o'clock  when  he  tied  Fire  Fly  out- 
side the  gate  and  stole  through  the  cedars  and  the 
shadows  toward  the  stables.  Suddenly  he  deter- 
mined to  approach  the  screened  porch.  Yes, 
Dulcie  was  there,  pressed  against  the  netting. 

"  Cousin, "  she  breathed,  opening  the  door  a 
little,  "  I  hope  you  understand. " 

"What  is  it?  I  am  here." 

"  Go  back  and  wait  for  me  near  the  gate.  Take 
this,  please." 

She  thrust  forth  a  bundle  of  clothing,  then  dis- 
appeared. He  could  do  nothing  but  retrace  his 
steps  and  wait  within  the  gate  where  he  had  left 
his  horse,  in  a  fever  of  impatience.  When  she  did 
come  she  was  with  him  before  he  knew  it.  She 
had  muffled  a  horse's  feet  to  come  over  the  sward 
silently.  The  horse  she  had  was  one  of  the  best 
and  fleetest  in  the  Colonel's  stables. 

They  went  quite  half  a  mile  in  silence,  then 
more  slowly  in  response  to  her  gesture.  He  fol- 
lowed her  into  an  out-of-the-way  lane  and  they 
stopped. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Dulcie,  and  what  are 
you  going  to  do  ? " 

"  I  am  going  to  hide  away,  cousin. " 

"Where?" 

She  faintly  smiled  in  the  starlight. 


CHAPTER  NINE  109 

"  Don't  you  know  where  there  is  a  little  woman 
with  much  sense  and  a  heart  of  goodness  ?  I  am 
going  there  —  to  Kitty  Manifold.  It  is  a  long, 
lonely  ride  through  the  woods  at  night,  but  you 
will  go  with  me,  and  return  the  Colonel's  horse. 
Will  you  do  this,  cousin  ?" 

She  stroked  the  horse's  mane  very  gently  while 
he  foamed  and  curvetted.  Lucian's  heart  leaped 
out  to  her  in  pride  and  pity. 

"I  will,  Dulcie,"  he  replied,  quite  as  softly  as 
she  had  spoken.  "I  will  certainly  go  with  you  if 
you  wish  it. " 


CHAPTER  TEN 

PRISONER  IN  A  RED  ROSE  CHAIN 

SILENTLY  the  man  and  the  woman  rode 
through  a  grassy  lane  that  was  now  dark 
enough,  for  the  moon  had  not  yet  risen. 
The  night  was  sultry,  while,  in  the  eastern  hori- 
zon, there  were  coming  and  going  constant  flashes 
of  heat  lightning.  Lucian  Beardsley's  heart  beat 
fast  with  excitement.  He  felt  all  the  mad  folly  of 
the  hour,  but  he  would  not  forego  one  moment  of 
it  for  the  pleasure  it  gave  him  to  be  with  Dulcie 
alone. 

It  seemed,  after  she  lost  all  fear  of  pursuit,  that 
Dulcie  showed  a  spirit  he  had  never  attributed  to 
her.  Her  stay  among  strangers  had  bred  health- 
fulness  of  mind.  She  looked  at  matters  in  a 
straightforward  and  courageous  fashion.  She 
spoke  to  Lucian  of  stumbling  places  in  the  lane, 
and  promised  that  they  would  soon  find,  for  a 
time  at  least,  broader  and  smoother  roads.  He 

130 


CHAPTER  TEN  131 

felt  that  she  was  avoiding  speech  of  all  that  was 
in  her  heart,  those  things  of  which  both  longed  to 
talk  but  knew  not  how  to  approach. 

"This  is  not  the  way  the  Colonel  and  I  went  to 
or  came  from  the  Manifold  farm,"  said  Lucian 
at  last. 

"A  much  more  unfrequented  way.  I  cannot 
risk  meeting  any  one  who  knows  either  of  us.  It 
would  not  be  wise. " 

"No,  no." 

"  But,  cousin,  who  can  blame  me  ?  The  Col- 
onel expects  to  be  arrested  to-morrow  for  his 
assault  on"  — here  she  hesitated  —  "on  Dr. 
DeWitt." 

"I  should  not  be  surprised,"  returned  Lucian 
tersely,  "not  at  anything." 

"I  could  be  compelled  to  go  as  a  witness. 
Anything  public  is  dreadful  —  don't  you  see  ?  I 
must  get  away.  And  —  and  I  was  afraid  to  go 
alone. " 

Lucian's  very  temples  throbbed.  It  seemed  a 
simple  thing  to  advise  her,  to  talk  to  her,  to  tell 
her  that  there  never  could  be  any  peace  on  a  half- 
way ground.  It  seemed  a  cowardly  thing  not  to 
persuade  her  to  be  free,  to  at  once  break  the 
chains  that  bound  her,  and  yet  —  and  yet  —  he 
had  promised  Beamer  Van  Wye. 

"  I  thought  you  would  surely  talk  to  me,  cous- 
in," she  said  again  and  rather  lightly,  "that  you 


1 3z  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

would  keep  me  from  sorrowful  thought  —  per- 
haps advise  me.  I  need  advice,  I  need  friends 
now,  if  ever.  Do  not  think  I  am  not  deeply 
troubled. " 

"My  friendship  shall  not  fail  you,"  he  replied; 
"you  must  remember  that,  first  of  all,  I  hold  you 
as  my  kinswoman." 

"Then  tell  me  just  what  to  do,"  she  cried  out 
impetuously.  "I  must  certainly  help  myself  in 
some  way,  for  the  Colonel  says  there  will  not  be 
much  money  left  me  —  and  I  never  was  rich." 

"I  don't  think  that  is  the  first  thing,"  said  Lu- 
cian,  leaning  over  in  the  darkness  to  unfasten  a 
gate  which  barred  their  way.  "It's  the  situation 
generally,  Dulcie." 

She  did  not  reply  until  they  were  riding  more 
swiftly  along  the  smooth  pike.  Finally  there  came 
to  him  a  faint  little  exclamation  of  hers: 

"O,  I  am  so  afraid!" 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  meeting  some  one.  It  would  never  do, 
would  it  ? " 

"I  am  afraid  not.  The  moon  is  rising.  How 
long  must  we  stay  on  this  open  road  ?" 

"For  a  half  mile  more.  I  am  sure  I  ought  not 
to  have  asked  you  to  come.  Don't  you  think  so, 
cousin  ? " 

Lucian  pulled  himself  together  and  took  hold 
upon  her  bridle. 


CHAPTER  TEN  133 

"Whatever  is  done,  is  done.  I  never  regret  an 
action  past.  Now  for  a  dash,  for  there  is  a 
buggy  coming.  Do  not  give  any  one  time  to  see 
who  you  are. " 

In  three  minutes  they  stopped,  breathless,  in 
the  darkness  of  another  lane.  Beyond  could  be 
heard  the  steady  ripple  of  a  river  over  a  stony 
turn,  and,  far  away,  the  buggy  wheels  going  on- 
ward. 

"The  ford,"  he  whispered  with  a  sudden 
thought.  "  Dare  you  risk  it  ?  Dare  you  cross 
it?" 

She  smiled  and  patted  the  neck  of  her  horse 
proudly. 

"  I  have  gone  over  that  more  than  once  when 
the  water  was  high.  Kentucky  women  are  rarely 
afraid,  never  of  a  horse,  only  of  people  they 
do  not  understand  or  who  deceive  them.  Go 
on!" 

They  passed  swiftly  along  the  lane  where  high 
bushes  on  either  side  held  up  white,  starry  blos- 
soms. Between  the  trees,  far  away,  a  full,  reddish 
moon  came  up  slowly.  Dulcie's  hat,  fastened  by 
a  strip  of  elastic,  had  fallen  back.  Her  bare 
throat  was  as  white  as  milk.  Suddenly  Lucian  re- 
alized all  her  womanly  beauty.  The  terrible  im- 
pulse of  savagery  awoke  in  him  anew,  to  have,  to 
hold,  to  tear  from  any  who  came  to  interfere, 
this  one  woman  of  all  in  the  world.  The  dream 


ij4  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

had  come  to  him  late  enough,  but  he  had  a  man's 
intense  appreciation  of  all  it  meant  and  he  held 
to  its  sweetness. 

"Dulcie!"  he  cried  out,  stopping  short. 

She  started  at  his  new  tone. 

But  before  the  rash  words  he  was  about  to 
speak  came  from  his  lips  a  sentence  spoke  itself 
out  of  the  darkness: 

"  Do  you  want  to  ruin  her  future  for  a  whim  ?" 

"Who  spoke,  Dulcie  ?"  he  said  hoarsely,  "who 
spoke?" 

"No  one.  Indeed,  no  one.  What  was  it  ?"  she 
said,  trembling  sorely.  "Who  was  it  ?" 

But  the  man  was  himself  again,  in  his  own 
strong  grasp.  He  saw  that  she  was  much  shaken 
by  his  question. 

"I  merely  imagined  a  voice.  We  are  both  nerv- 
ous. Now  for  the  ford.  Be  careful  —  watch  the 
horse.  You  are  sure  you  know  the  right  trees  on 
the  bank?" 

She  pushed  ahead  and,  after  swimming  the 
horses  for  a  short  distance,  they  safely  reached 
the  pebbly  bank.  Lucian  regarded  Dulcie's 
horsemanship  with  admiring  eyes  as  she  shook 
out  her  upfolded  skirt. 

"We  have  not  far  to  go  now,"  she  said  a  few 
moments  later.  "And  you  really  must  leave  me 
at  the  barn  lot.  I  will  wait  in  the  porch  until 
morning  and  by  that  time  you  will  be  back  in 


CHAPTER  TEN  135 

Grafton  if  you  will  ride  swiftly.  You  can  keep  to 
the  high  roads  now." 

He  could  not  object. 

"Am  I  to  see  you  or  to  hear  from  you  ?" 

She  reflected  a  little  while. 

"Send  Mr.  Van  Wye  to  see  me  the  day  after 
to-morrow,"  she  finally  announced,  "and  by  that 
time  I  will  have  made  up  my  mind. " 

She  evidently  expected  him  to  ask  a  question, 
but  he  dared  not.  He  lifted  her  down  at  the  barn- 
yard gate  and  stood  facing  her,  standing  with  the 
two  bridles  over  his  arm  and  quite  close. 

"I  wish  I  knew  that  you  were  really  safe,"  he 
said,  "safe  forever  from  any  harm." 

She  laughed  out  but  mirthlessly.  He  felt  that 
she  was  disappointed  in  him,  that  she  had  hoped 
for  positive  advice  from  him.  It  was  her  nature 
to  lean,  to  ask,  to  be  assured,  and  he  was  so  sure, 
so  sure  what  ought  to  be  done  without  any  fur- 
ther scruples.  What  held  him  back  from  bidding 
her  free  herself,  ensure  her  property  and  safety  ? 
Something  intangible,  terribly  resistless,  that 
fairly  thundered  in  his  ears  the  stern  command, 
"Speak  not!" 

"  I  feel  that  I  have  been  silent  —  cold,  perhaps, 
Dulcie,"  he  said  at  last  and  not  very  steadily 
after  his  struggle.  "  I  am  so  very  sorry  for  you, 
but  you  are  a  woman,  and  some  things  you  must 
decide  for  yourself.  One  thing  for  good-night: 


136  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

Send  me  word  of  anything  I  can  do  for  you  by 
Van  Wye  —  that's  all.  I  will  watch  you  to  the 
porch.  Good-night!  I  send  my  compliments  to 
Mistress  Kitty.  Good-night!" 

His  return  was  a  swift,  silent  run  through  the 
glorious  moonlight.  It  wanted  but  a  half  hour  of 
the  summer  dawn  when  Lucian  led  the  Colonel's 
horse  into  the  stable.  He  woke  up  the  groom  who 
had  care  of  Cupid  and  bade  him  attend  the  Colo- 
nel's weary  horse,  feeing  him  well  for  secrecy. 
As  he  turned  away  on  his  own  black  a  figure 
darkened  the  door.  It  was  the  Colonel  with  his 
whip  in  his  hand.  He  had  evidently  been  waiting. 
The  two  men  walked  away  a  few  steps,  then  the 
Colonel  broke  out  hoarsely: 

"Where  did  you  take  her?" 

Lucian's  blood  surged  in  hot  waves  in  his 
veins.  He  realized  his  position  in  a  second.  Dul- 
cie  had  demanded  a  fearful  price  of  him  for  the 
privilege  of  kinship.  He  tried  to  speak  quietly: 

"  Colonel,  she  is  in  hiding  to  save  herself  and 
you.  She  does  not  want  you,  not  any  one  to 
know,  until  later  on. " 

"Is  she  at  Paradise  ?" 

"You  mistake  us  both.  She  is  with  friends." 

"I  saw  her  go.  I  mistrusted  you  from  the  first. 
Why  did  you  coax  her  away  ?  I  would  have  taken 
her  any  place.  Do  you  think  it  was  right,  you 
scoundrel  and  devil!" 


CHAPTER  TEN  137 

Lucian  flushed  in  the  darkness  and  his  teeth 
met  with  a  sharp  click. 

"Colonel,  I  do  not." 

"Do  you  know  what  you've  done?  My  wife 
will  never  have  her  here  again.  It  is  all  your  fault. 
She  was  the  meekest,  the  most  uncomplaining 
creature,  and  but  for  you  she  would  have  finally 
returned  to  her  home." 

The  hearer  stood  immovable,  silent,  his  mouth 
sternly  set.  Something  in  his  attitude  struck  like 
ice  to  the  Colonel's  heart  —  was  he  a  man  or  was 
he  a  brilliant,  heartless  demon  who  would  toss 
aside  this  woman  he  had  hidden  away  as  if  she 
was  a  toy  ?  He  crept  quite  close  to  Lucian  and 
whispered  fearfully: 

"  But  you'll  marry  her,  Beardsley,  promise  me 
that.  She  is  my  old  friend's  little  girl  and  she  has 
been  very  near  to  us.  When  all's  over  you'll 
marry  her,  won't  you  ?  Or  she  will  be  lost. " 

A  surging  heat  and  anger  tingled  in  Lucian 
Beardsley,  a  singing  sound  in  his  ears.  He  could 
have  struck  the  Kentuckian  where  he  stood  for 
his  cruel  words.  Once  more  he  held  himself  well 
in  leash  and,  looking  into  the  red,  quivering  face, 
he  said  with  a  tired  tolerance: 

"  I  will  certainly  marry  her  if  she  is  ever  free, 
and  is  willing,  Colonel ;  for  it  may  be  she  will  not 
have  it,  you  know. " 

Then  he  turned  down  the  avenue  while  the 


138  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

waking  birds  chirped.  A  sick  sensation,  nearer 
akin  to  disgust  of  life  than  he  had  ever  before 
experienced,  took  hold  on  him.  He  rode  slowly 
homeward  wondering  how  it  fared  with  Dulcie 
and  whether  there  could  be  anything  more  com- 
plex than  his  present  relations  with  his  little 
world. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

MEN'S  VOWS  ARE  WOMEN'S  TRAITORS 

ON  the  afternoon  after  the  night  ride 
Dulcinea  DeWitt  sat  upon  the  broad 
upper  gallery  of  the  Manifold  farm- 
house with  some  mending  in  her  fingers  and  the 
mistress  of  the  house  for  a  companion.  Their 
position  commanded  a  view  of  the  entrance  lane 
and  the  grass  plot  below,  where  Aunt  Reba  sat 
with  infant  Eustace,  the  centre  of  an  admiring 
group  of  small  negro  children.  The  two  women 
were  deep  in  conversation  and  Kitty  had  a 
heightened  colour. 

"  Fm  sure  it  was  mighty  kind  of  Mr.  Beardsley 
to  say  such  a  fine  thing  of  me,  Dulcie  DeWitt, 
but  law!  how  can  I  tell  what  is  the  best  thing 
for  you  to  do  ? " 

"What  would  you  do  in  my  place?"  asked 
Dulcie  absently.  Her  thoughts  were  evidently  far 
away. 

139 


140  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"O  my,"  cried  Kitty  May,  "I  couldn't  tell.  If 
Eustace's  pa  ever  did  act  badly  —  well,  I  just 
can't  say  what  I'd  do.  Something  pretty  strong, 
surely.  I  do  feel  so  sorry  for  you,  and  now  don't 
you  cry,  Dulcie. " 

"It  will  not  hurt  me,"  quivered  Dulcie, 
"there  have  been  times  when  I  could  not  cry; 
they  were  the  worst  times.  You  never  can  tell 
what  it  is  to  see  a  little  baby  die  and  to  feel  that  it 
was  its  father's  fault. " 

"My  poor  dearest,"  soothed  Kitty  May,  "I 
cannot  imagine  life  without  Eustace  —  not  at  all. 
But  suppose  you  had  them  now  ?  it  would  be 
worse.  You  just  could  not  leave  that  man. " 

"I  would  have  had  to  leave  long  ago,"  sighed 
Dulcie,  "for  no  innocent  child  should  be  in  such 
a  life  as  I  have  led.  Why,  even  the  negro  wo- 
men would  not  have  a  child  about  our  house. 
You  see  you  cannot  imagine  how  things  were, 
Kitty  May." 

The  little  woman  nodded  her  head  emphatic- 
ally. She  looked  comfortable  in  a  gown  of  ample 
dimensions,  and  watched  the  group  below  in  a 
contented  assurance. 

"Of  course  we've  heard  heaps  o'  things,"  she 
ventured  slowly,  "but  I  always  calculate  that 
gossip  is  only  about  one  grain  truth  and  the  rest 
is  hatefulness.  Peter  and  I  never  did  feel  that 
your  neighbours  over  there  ought  to  have  stood  so 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN  141 

much  wickedness,  but  law!  folks  do  hate  to  get 
stirred  up  and  interfere.  It  isn't  that  they  believe 
each  person's  got  particular  rights,  either.  It  is 
that  it  is  easier  not  to  interfere  and  that's  the  truth. 
It  is  lots  o'  trouble  to  be  your  brother's  helper  or 
keeper,  isn't  it  ?  Peter  never  has  had  any  grudge 
against  you,  but  Nancy  was  set  in  her  ways.  She's 
gone  now  and  we  take  it  kindly  that  you  came 
here  —  and  you  just  stay  if  you  want  to.  If  I  ring 
that  bell  there  it  won't  take  more'n  a  few  minutes 
for  fifteen  niggers  to  come  a  runnin',  and  Peter 
won't  stand  any  nonsense,  not  if  he  does  look 
easy. " 

Dulcie's  face  was  very  grave. 

"I  know.  It  is  very  kind  but  I  really  think  I 
had  better  leave  Grafton.  It  seems  like  I'll  have 
to  go.  I  don't  want  to  go.  I  have  no  friends 
other  places,  but  the  doctor  will  never  let  me 
alone. " 

"I  hope  the  doctor  won't  come  here,"  said 
Kitty  May  earnestly,  "because  Peter  has  really 
got  a  most  curious  temper  with  any  real  mean 
folks." 

"That  —  and  many  other  reasons  —  make 
me  feel  that  I  must  go.  It  has  brought  trouble  on 
Colonel  Buckman,  who  defended  me.  It  will  al- 
ways bring  trouble  wherever  I  go  unless  I  hide 
away.  I  think  I  will  tell  my  distant  cousin,  Mr. 
Beardsley,  and  maybe  he  can  arrange  something 


14*  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

for  me  in  Texas  or  in  California.  He  has  travelled 
about  a  great  deal." 

"It  does  seem  to  me,"  cried  Kitty  May,  "that 
you  haven't  done  anything  wrong  but  are  really 
running  away  just  as  if  you  had.  I  wouldn't  run 
away.  I  would  stay  here  and  fight  it  out. " 

Dulcie  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"How  can  I?" 

"  I  would  have  my  property  rights  if  I  had  to 
get  a  divorce.'* 

Dulcie  grew  very  pale. 

"  You  know  you  would  have  no  trouble  getting 
it,"  went  on  Kitty,  "  and  Peter  says  if  you  are  not 
going  to  live  with  Dr.  DeWitt  it  is  the  best  thing 
to  do  to  avoid  scandals.  Doctor  DeWitt  is  a 
beast  —  every  negro  knows  it  —  and  that's  the 
truth." 

Dulcie  blushed  with  shame  and  mortifica- 
tion. 

"I  am  going  away,"  she  gasped,  "going  so  far 
he  can  never  find  me.  I  feel  all  that. " 

"But  he  will  follow  you,"  asserted  Kitty  most 
decidedly;  "you  don't  understand  men  as  well  as 
I  do.  The  best  o'  them  sort  o'  feels,  when  he  gets 
a  marriage  license,  that  he  is  getting  a  clutch  on 
to  something  he  can  treat  as  he  pleases  and  some- 
times work  out  his  salvation  on.  Sometimes  the 
woman  can  handle  him  right  and  make  her  own 
way  smooth,  but,  in  other  cases,  she  is  real  help- 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN  143 

less,  like  you,  to  oppose  him  in  his  born  cussed- 
ness,  as  Peter  calls  it.  Dr.  DeWitt  thinks  he  owns 
you,  soul  and  body,  and  would  follow  you  to 
California  or  South  America  if  he  got  a  hint  as  to 
where  you  were.  And,  Dulcie,"  here  Kitty  May 
lowered  her  voice,  "such  terrible  things  do  hap- 
pen. We  read  about  them  in  the  papers.  My 
blood  just  runs  cold  sometimes." 

Kitty  May  was  an  inveterate  reader  of  news- 
papers and  for  that  reason  knew  the  outside 
world  far  better  than  her  hearer. 

"And  as  for  your  cousin,  Mr.  Beardsley,  about 
the  finest  man  I  ever  saw,  Dulcie,  you  can't  let 
him  help  you  much.  Folks  will  talk  in  a  minute 
as  long  as  you  ain't  free.  Yes,  you  needn't  get  so 
red.  I'm  not  saying  a  word  against  him  or  you.  It 
is  just  the  fact  that  you  are  in  such  a  bad  fix  that 
makes  it  hard  for  him  to  help  you. " 

"But  he  seems  to  want  to,  and  he  is  so 
strong!" 

"  Strong  as  a  lion,  it  will  do  him  no  good  if  talk 
gets  started  about  you  all.  He  may  not  care  - 
some  men  don't  —  but  law!  I  got  a  better  opin- 
ion of  him,  I  have." 

Dulcie  threw  the  sewing  down  and  her  eyes 
were  once  more  stormy  and  wet. 

"I  see,  I  see.  I  am  all  alone.  I  have  to  stand 
alone  as  I  have  done  all  these  years  —  and  kept 
still,  too,  and  stood  everything  and  anything. 


144  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

Seems  like  everything  is  bound  to  drive  me  back, 
but  I  won't  go  —  I'll  go  to  the  river  first." 

"Now  don't  you  feel  so  badly  over  what  I've 
said." 

"It's  true  enough.  It's  been  in  me  all  the  time. 
I  have  suffered  for  years  fighting  for  an  idea, 
Kitty  May.  I  believed  that  divorce  was  wrong. 
But  it  has  come  to  that  pass  that  life  at  Glen 
Farm  is  more  wicked  than  divorce.  Divorce  is 
wicked,  separation  will  not  'love  and  cherish' 
Doctor  DeWitt  as  I  promised  —  but  life  at  Glen 
Farm  is  something  right  out  of  hell.  Don't  start! 
You  can  never  know.  I  would  not  tell  you.  It  is 
getting  worse  every  day.  Now  out  of  three  wick- 
ednesses I've  got  to  choose  one.  When  all  ways 
are  wicked,  which  way  shall  I  go  ?" 

Kitty  May  was  pale  but  she  set  her  lips. 

"Dulcie  DeWitt,  there's  lots  more  to  you  than 
we  all  knew  about.  You  are  hunting  daylight  in  a 
nasty  cellar,  poor  dear.  I  never  knew,  nor 
Peter,  either,  that  you  had  any  such  feelings. 
Now,  when  it  comes  to  doing  right  and  wrong, 
there's  two  sides  to  the  question  and  I  can  an- 
swer you  straight  out.  You  asked  me  a  while  back 
if  I  was  in  your  fix  what  I  would  do.  I'll  tell  you 
now,  since  you  asked  me.  Don't  you  be  dragged 
clear  to  the  earth  by  that  man  as  he  has  dragged 
others.  I  wouldn't  have  one  scruple  about  a  di- 
vorce, not  I,  in  your  fix.  Why,  Dulcie,  if  you  go  by 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN  145 

Bible  reasons  that  man  has  broken  his  contract 
with  you  and  smashed  every  commandment.  And 
the  Bible  gives  one  reason  for  divorce  if  you  want 
it  straight  out. " 

"O!"  cried  Dulcie.  The  women  gazed  at  each 
other,  trembling  yet  fascinated. 

"It  takes  a  real  friendly  person  to  tell  the 
meanest  things  to  one,"  blustered  Kitty  May, 
"and  since  I'm  sure  you  don't  know,  I'll  set  your 
poor  mind  at  rest.  I  owe  Doctor  DeWitt  a 
grudge  and  I'm  going  to  pay  it  up  in  his  own 
coin.  I'll  show  you  a  Bible  reason  or  two  right  on 
our  side  of  the  river.  Aunt  Reba!"  she  called  over 
the  rail,  "have  Silver  Wings  put  into  the  light 
buggy." 

"Where  are  we  going,  Kitty  May?"  gasped 
Dulcie. 

"I  won't  tell  you  now,  but  you  have  got  to 
have  your  mind  eased  up.  A  pity  the  Colonel 
never  looked  into  a  few  things,  but  law!  men 
are  men  the  world  over.  It  is  all  right  until  the 
thing  is  found  out  on  one,  then  the  other  men 
say  how  foolish  all  that  is.  I  know  them  real 
well." 

Four  miles  up  the  river  bank  Kitty  May  drove 
Dulcie.  It  was  a  wild  and  lonesome  way.  Beyond 
the  roadway  were  hills  and  hollows,  at  times  a  bit 
of  field  and  only  narrow  lanes  and  bridle  paths 
to  lead  across  and  up  to  the  farms  on  the  high- 


146  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

lands.  A  picturesque  road  it  was,  lovely  and 
tangled  in  summer  growth  and  bloom  and  with 
the  bright  and  slipping  river  always  to  the  right 
hand  shining  with  many  curves  and  turns,  with 
creeks  coming  down  the  hollows  and  emptying 
gently  into  the  larger  and  quieter  streams. 

The  houses  below  the  hills  were  mere  cabins 
and  huts.  Opposite  one  of  them  Kitty  May  drew 
up. 

"Dulcie,"  she  said  gently,  "I'm  going  to 
make  you  feel  mighty  bad,  but  don't  you  show 
it.  I  want  you  to  see  this  place  and  go  into  the 
house. " 

She  drove  over  the  edge  of  a  field  into  the  very 
dooryard.  A  woman  appeared  with  several  small 
children  clinging  to  her  skirts.  She  was  still  young, 
and  had  once  been  beautiful  and  she  was  nearly 
white;  indeed,  might  have  passed  for  a  white  wo- 
man on  the  streets  of  a  Northern  city.  She  was 
bareheaded  and  barefooted  and  the  children  were 
as  little  clothed  as  possible. 

"Good-morning,  Delia.  Have  you  a  setting  of 
Buff  Cochins  ?  It  is  a  little  late  for  setting  but 
we'll  try  it. " 

The  woman  looked  at  her  with  radiant  eyes. 

"  Lawd,  Mis'  Kitty,  it  air  good  foah  sore  eyes 
ter  see  you.  How's  your  paw  ?  Run  out  in  the 
wood,  Leroy,  and  see  erbout  them  nestes  in  thet 
holler  oak.  Thar  orter  be  some  aigs  thar. " 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN  147 

A  slim  boy  scudded  off  on  the  instant,  eager  to 
be  back. 

"How  is  your  crippled  boy,  Delia?"  asked 
Kitty  May.  "  I  hope  you  give  him  good  care. " 

The  woman  laughed  out. 

"  He  air  allers  a  heap  better  off  than  any  one 
of  us.  'Pears  laike  he  allers  comes  out  top  o'  the 
heap.  Light  an'  see  'im,  Miss  Kitty.  He  don't 
offen  see  folks." 

Kitty  May  accepted  the  invitation  and,  to  Dul- 
cie's  surprise,  whispered: 

"  I  want  you  to  go  inside. " 

The  cabin  had  three  good-sized  rooms,  one 
careless  and  dirty  enough,  the  others  fairly  fur- 
nished. There  was  a  strange  familiarity  about 
some  of  the  things  that  at  first  puzzled  Dulcie. 
Then  she  recognized  a  plaid  blanket  that  had 
once  been  her  father's  and  her  heart  stood  still. 
It  was  thrown  over  the  knees  of  a  distorted  crip- 
ple, a  boy  that  was  almost  a  monster  in  his  de- 
formity and  his  expression  of  cunning  and  malice. 
His  hair  was  brown,  his  eyes  blue  and  his  skin 
strangely  dusky  and  repulsive  indeed.  Yet  Dulcie 
saw  a  terrible  likeness. 

"How  do  you  do,  Felix?"  said  Kitty  May 
kindly;  "are  you  growing  stronger  ?" 

The  boy  glared  at  her  with  strange,  vague  eyes. 

"  I  want  my  pa, "  he  said  hoarsely,  "  I  want  my 
pa!" 


148  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"Heah's  the  nice  ladies,"  said  his  mother 
apologetically;  "this  hyah's  a  lady  I  uster  play 
wid  a  long  spell  ago. " 

"Whar  war  that?"  queruously  complained 
the  boy;  "I  never  heered  o'  that.  Whar  war  it  ?" 

"Up  on  them  hills,"  was  the  reply,  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand. 

The  boy  refused  to  talk  to  the  strangers,  al- 
though his  eyes  followed  every  movement.  Dul- 
cie's  eyes  also  roamed  and  saw  many  things  from 
Glen  Farm. 

"How  many  children  have  you?"  she  asked 
the  woman  stiffly  enough,  "  there  seems  to  be  a 
great  many  and  you  so  young. " 

"I  hev  seven,  ma'am,"  returned  Delia;  "they 
all's  lots  o'  work  an'  bother,  tuh,  but  whut's  a 
woman  tuh  do  ?  I  jes'  can't  keep  'em  cleaned  up 
none." 

The  setting  of  eggs  came  in  and  Kitty  May  was 
ready  to  go.  As  a  farewell  Dulcie  gazed  at  the 
cripple  boy  earnestly.  He  flung  a  savage  curse  at 
her. 

Half  a  mile  farther  to  a  turn  and  here  Kitty 
May  threw  the  "setting"  into  the  bushes. 

"Well,  Dulcie?" 

"How  far  is  this  from  Glen  Farm  ?" 

"It  is  a  mile  and  a  half  through  your  bit  of 
woodland  right  over  the  river.  He  always  has  a 
boat  there. " 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN  149 

"Those  wretched  children!" 

"The  wretched  woman,  too!  Dulcie,  she  was 
brought  up  on  my  father's  farm  and  her  mother 
was  almost  white.  Delia  was  real  smart  and 
bright,  but  he  got  hold  of  her  long  before  he  mar- 
ried you  and  she  is  now  what  you  see.  I  could 
shoot  him  when  I  remember  all  this.  Well,Dulcie, 
there  are  shorely  seven  Bible  reasons,  you  see, 
for  your  future  deliverance.  You  can  go  on 
now. " 

Dulcie  sat  like  a  woman  of  stone.  In  her  heart 
was  a  wild  anger  and  resentment,  felt  at  her  own 
blindness  in  the  past  rather  than  at  Doctor 
DeWitt.  The  idea  of  his  infidelity  was  no  new 
one,  but  she  had  tried  not  to  know  the  actual 
truths  because  she  did  not  really  care.  She 
burned  with  rage  to  think  that  she  had  not 
long  ago  had  the  spirit  and  wish  to  know  the 
truth. 

The  next  morning  Dulcie  came  down  to  the 
family  breakfast  in  her  black  riding  dress,  and 
when  Maria  had  gone  out  into  the  kitchen  for 
more  coffee,  she  said  in  a  firm  voice: 

"  Peter  and  Kitty,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
go  right  back  to  Grafton." 

Both  stared  at  her  tone  and  expression. 

"I  will  go  back  this  morning  and  will  try  to 
have  my  affairs  arranged.  It  is  because  of  what 
Kitty  said  yesterday  to  me  —  that  I  had  not  done 


150  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

anything  of  which  to  be  ashamed  and  it  was  not 
for  me  to  run  away. " 

"Good,  good!"  cried  Kitty  May,  "but  you 
will  not  go  to  the  farm." 

"No,  no,"  replied  Dulcie,  a  look  of  great  pain 
on  her  face,  "  I  will  go  to  the  hotel  until  I  arrange 
some  place  to  live.  There  I  will  be  independent 
of  any  one,  I  hope. " 

Kitty  May  clapped  her  hands. 

"There's  some  sense  and  spirit  in  that.  Glen 
Farm  is  yours  and  you  all  must  get  out.  Now  I 
tell  you  what  it  is,  Peter.  If  she  feels  that  way  it 
is  the  very  best  thing.  We'll  hitch  up  and  go  in 
with  her  and  stay  all  night.  You  can  ride  the 
brown  mare  and  take  Davis  and  I'll  take  Aunt 
Reba  in  the  carriage  for  Eustace.  We'll  make  it  a 
day  and  a  night  there." 

Peter  grumbled  a  little  about  leaving  his  colts, 
but  finally  gave  up  to  his  small  tyrant.  So  it  came 
about  that,  about  twelve  o'clock,  the  Manifold 
carriage  drew  up  in  front  of  the  Grafton  House 
and  from  it  descended,  with  great  dignity,  plump 
and  pretty  Mrs.  Manifold,  Aunt  Reba,  very 
stately  with  the  Manifold  heir  in  her  arms  and, 
to  every  one's  surprise,  Mrs.  DeWitt  in  a  riding 
dress. 

This  sight  took  away  the  very  breath  of  Colo- 
nel Buckman  and  Beamer  Van  Wye,  who  were 
standing  at  the  bar  when  the  carriage  drove  up. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN  15! 

The  ladies  disappeared  up  the  narrow  front 
stairway  and  the  tall  form  of  Peter  Manifold 
darkened  the  hall  door. 

"Howdy,  Colonel,  howdy,  Van  Wye!  Hot  day. 
Yaas,  a  julep  and  three  small  ones  up-stairs, 
Linas,"  to  the  host;  "the  gentlemen  '11  drink  with 
me,  of  course,  Linas. " 

There  being  no  reason  why  the  gentlemen 
should  not  drink  with  him,  they  adjourned  to  a 
round  table.  Peter  stretched  his  legs  as  the  host 
wiped  off  the  table  and  set  down  the  glasses. 

"Get  another  three  ready,"  ordered  the  same 
soft  voice,  "and,  Linas,  that  big  room  next  the 
parlour  up-stairs  —  just  do  fix  that  up  for  the 
ladies.  We'll  be  here  all  night,  anyhow.  Davis  will 
see  to  the  team. " 

He  sat  down  and  smiled  in  his  gentle  way  at 
the  two  men. 

"Wife  wants  a  little  outing  so  we  came  in  with 
my  cousin  Dulcie.  You  see  we  call  her  'cousin' 
because  that  box  business  has  made  away  with  all 
those  old  differences,  Colonel.  Kitty  May  and 
her  get  on  splendidly." 

"So  she  has  been  out  to  your  house  ?"  ques- 
tioned Van  Wye  slowly. 

"That  she  has,"  said  Peter;  "we  invited  her  to 
make  her  home  there  until  things  settle  down. 
Maybe  she  will,  maybe  she  will. " 

It  was  a  study  to  see  Colonel  Buckman's  face. 


1 52  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"You  all  see, "drawled  Peter,  his  mild  gaze 
on  the  men,  "you  all  see  she  ought  to  be  on  the 
ground  jes'  now  to  see  after  her  business  affairs 
and  she  had  the  grit  to  say  so.  She  said  she  cal- 
kilated  she'd  get  a  room  here  at  the  hotel  for  a 
few  days  until  she  knew  what  to  do. " 

"You  never  are  telling  about  DulcieDeWitt  ?" 
scoffed  the  Colonel. 

"I  am,"  went  on  Peter  with  an  incidental 
wave  to  Linas,  "  and  she  seems  right  waked  up. 
She  says  she  don't  calkilate  to  make  any  trouble 
to  any  one  no  more.  But  she's  plumb  welcome  to 
stay  out  with  us.  My  niggers  don't  want  nothing 
bettah,  gentlemen,  than  to  bluff  that  crazy  doc- 
tor if  he'd  come  around  there. " 

"Since  I  was  made,"  pronounced  the  Colonel, 
red  and  emphatic  over  his  second  glass,  "I  never 
heard  of  such  a  thing  —  Dulcie  that  spirited  ? 
Lord,  Beamer,  what  do  you  make  of  that  ?" 

Beamer  was  gazing  at  the  flies  on  the  ceiling 
and  his  glass  was  empty  as  he  winked  solemnly 
at  the  Colonel. 

Peter  smiled  his  peculiar  and  sweet  smile. 

"Let's  have  another  and  join  the  ladies.  You 
all  never  saw  our  young  gentleman  yet,  have  you  ? 
He's  a  great  fellow." 

They  presently  filed  up  the  oilcloth-covered 
stairs  into  the  upper  parlour.  The  ladies  were  al- 
ready in  possession  of  the  big  room  next  and  were 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN  153 

making  themselves  as  much  at  home  as  possible. 
Dulcie  welcomed  them  quietly,  but  Beamer  Van 
Wye  at  once  recognized  the  subtle  defiance  in  her 
manner.  Kitty  May  was  always  the  same,  sturdy, 
smiling,  playful,  showing  off  Eustace  proudly,  and 
alert  for  every  opportunity  to  assert  her  individ- 
uality. It  was  sheer  audacity  that  carried  away 
the  embarrassment  of  the  occasion. 

"We  all  wanted  Dulcie  to  stay  out  with  us," 
she  chirped,  "but  it's  too  far  for  any  business. 
You  surely  will  be  able  to  save  something  from 
the  farm,  you  two  men.  It  cannot  be  all  gobbled 
up  unless  the  man  who  holds  the  mortgage  is  a 
regular  Jew." 

Dulcie  uttered  a  low  exclamation,  but,  ere  she 
could  speak,  Colonel  Buckman  broke  out: 

"I  now  hold  the  principal  one,  Mistress 
Kitty." 

The  little  bungler  skilfully  covered  her  mis- 
take by  a  cry  of  joy. 

"Well,  that  does  take  a  heap  off  my  mind, 
Colonel!  I  know  you.  You  are  square.  Cheer  up, 
Dulcie,  after  that  good  news.  Why,  the  Colonel  is 
just  like  a  father  to  you." 

"  I  tried  to  be, "  grunted  the  Colonel,  "  but  she 
ran  away  to  you.  What  can  you  all  say  to  that  ? " 

"I  was  so  afraid  I  would  have  to  go  into 
court,"  said  Dulcie  sweetly.  "I'm  not  so  afraid 
to-day.  Did  anything  happen  ?" 


154  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"No;  he  spent  the  day  in  one  of  his  stupors 
over  at  Middleport. " 

"You'd  better  send  Dulcie's  things  up  here, 
Colonel,"  went  on  Kitty  May,  bravely;  "she's 
going  to  put  up  here  until  something  is  arranged. 
Dulcie  does  not  want  to  feel  that  she  is  bringing 
trouble  on  any  one,  and,  at  a  hotel,  things  are  all 
open  and  above  board.  I  do  think  it  will  look 
queer  for  her  to  be  here  and  that  man  in  posses- 
sion of  Glen  Farm  that  is  her's  and  not  his.  Why 
don't  you  oust  him,  gentlemen  ?" 

"He  has  some  right  there  unless  there  is  a  legal 
separation,"  said  BeamerVan  Wye,  "  and  that  is 
the  whole  trouble.  Mrs.  DeWitt  has  announced 
that  she  does  not  want  a  divorce. " 

"She  may  change  her  mind,"  spoke  up  the 
little  woman  sharply.  "Do  grant  her  that  right 
since  she  has  been  over  the  river,  please.  Dulcie 
is  bound  to  understand  things  now." 

The  three  men  stared  at  each  other.  Dulcie 
grew  even  paler,  but  she  spoke  out: 

"  I  must  have  a  little  more  time  to  decide.  I  will 
stay  here  for  the  present  and  would  like  my 
clothes  sent  up  from  the  farm,  Colonel,  if  you  can 
manage  it." 

This  broke  the  Colonel  down  completely. 

"You  must  come  home  with  me.  I  was  furious 
with  Beardsley  for  taking  you  away,  but  I  do  not 
believe  that  either  of  you  meant  any  harm  by  go- 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN  155 

ing.  I  can  trust  you  for  your  father's  child,  can't 
I?" 

Peter  and  Kitty  Manifold  glanced  up  quickly 
and  a  shade  crossed  the  latter's  face.  Dulcie 
leaned  forward  in  her  chair. 

"Didn't  you  go  away  on  Thursday  night  with 
Lucian  Beardsley,  your  distant  cousin?" 

"I  did,"  promptly  replied  Dulcie,  for  once 
thoroughly  roused,  "but  he  did  not  take  me 
away.  I  sent  for  him  to  go  with  me  to  Peter's  and 
I  think  it  was  a  big  mistake  of  mine.  I  sent  him 
a  message  by  Mr.  Van  Wye.  He  came  out  to  see 
what  I  wanted  and  I  never  told  him  what  I  was 
going  to  do  until  I  was  on  the  horse  and  out  in 
the  road.  Then  I  asked  him  to  take  me  to  Kitty 
May  so  that,  if  the  doctor  did  act  badly,  I  could 
not  be  found." 

Beamer  Van  Wye  smiled  in  a  weary  and  pecu- 
liar fashion. 

"What  asses  we  were!  The  Colonel  called  your 
courteous  cousin  a  scoundrel  that  night  and  cut 
him  publicly  yesterday.  I  shut  my  office  door  in 
his  face  last  night. " 

"And  he  never  said  a  word? "cried  Peter, 
rather  harshly  for  him. 

" Not  a  word." 

"Well  you're  a  pack  of  fox  hounds!"  cried 
Peter,  his  tones  rising  sharp  and  shrill,  "and  you 
don't  know  a  sneak  from  a  gentleman.  D — 


156  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

your  airs,  you  all!  If  you  don't  apologize  to  him, 
I'll  cut  the  whole  string  of  you.  Where  is  he  ?  I'm 
going  to  find  him  and  bring  him  right  here.  Yes, 
I  will,  Dulcie.  He's  the  best  friend  we  all  have  got 
in  Grafton." 

But  Dulcie  was  lost  in  woe.  She  began  to  re- 
alize how  beset  with  danger  was  her  path,  that 
every  step  she  took  seemed  to  involve  others  and 
that  friendliness  to  her  was  more  than  danger- 
ous. The  Colonel  was  thoroughly  contrite  and 
humble. 

"  I  guess  I'm  a  fool,  Peter, "  he  acknowledged 
at  once,  "but  appearances  were  deceitful.  Who 
ever  thought  Dulcie  sent  for  him  ?  Dulcie,  you 
better  be  more  discreet  and  not  be  getting  us  into 
any  more  trouble  than  you  have  to,  you  poor 
child." 

At  which  Dulcie  wept  on  his  shoulder  and  they 
made  it  up  with  more  feeling  on  either  side  than 
the  spectators  at  all  enjoyed. 

Lucian  was  sitting  alone  that  night  on  the  ter- 
race at  Paradise.  He  was  trying  to  comprehend 
his  exact  situation  and  to  decide  on  his  next 
move.  That  Colonel  Buckman,  Van  Wye  and  all 
Grafton  should  be  his  enemies  did  not  at  all  sur- 
prise him.  He  had,  somehow,  expected  it.  He  felt 
a  little  surprise  at  Van  Wye.  Money  had  never 
failed  to  appeal  to  a  lawyer  before,  but  this  man 
was  of  a  different  metal.  He  felt  sorry  to  have  Van 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN  157 

Wye  think  him  dishonourable,  but  what  was  it  all 
to  having  met  poor  Dulcie's  wish  ? 

"I  will  ride  out  and  see  her  to-morrow,  and 
if  she  wants  a  lawyer  we  will  get  one  from  Lex- 
ington, one  who  will  see  her  through.  Van  Wye 
cannot  act  for  her  and  for  the  Colonel  also  unless 
we  are  all  friends. " 

In  a  pleasant  reverie,  not  much  disturbed  by 
the  rudeness  of  the  two  men,  Lucian  spent  several 
hours  in  his  steamer-chair  on  the  terrace.  Sum- 
mers came  up  after  dinner  with  a  number  of  let- 
ters and,  just  as  the  Virginian  was  about  to  enter 
the  house  to  read  them,  he  heard  lively  voices  at 
the  gate-way.  Colonel  Buckman,  Van  Wye  and 
Peter  Manifold  had  spent  the  entire  afternoon 
together  and  were  now  in  a  most  genial  mood.  It 
made  Lucian  smile  to  see  the  three  figures,  linked 
arms.  The  Colonel,  short  and  stout,  was  in  the 
middle,  the  tall,  stooped  lawyer  to  the  right, 
Peter  Manifold,  lank  and  awkward,  to  the  left. 
Here,  indeed,  were  three  of  Nature's  noblemen, 
of  the  truest  Kentucky  stamp  and  with  the  best 
Kentucky  whisky  down  their  throats. 

In  strong  contrast,  Lucian  Beardsley  stood 
erect,  well  knit,  handsome,  coolly  waiting  to  hear 
their  business. 

"Beardsley,  old  boy,"  began  the  Colonel, 
"  we've  come  up,  Beam  and  I,  to  say  we're  damn 
foolish.  We  know  all  about  the  other  night.  It  was 


iS8  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

the  old  trouble  'the  woman  tempted,'  and  thatsh 
all  right  Beardsley,  'cause  I  been  there  myself. 
She  asked  you  to  go  and  you  never  split  on  her. 
You're  all  right,  sir.  Peter  Manifold  saysh  I 
must  apologize  and  I  have  apologized  now,  Peter, 
haven't  I  ?  Wasn't  that  real  handsome,  eh  ?  An' 
you  needn't  to  marry  her,  Beardsley,  'cause  she 
ish  going  to  please  me  and  go  right  back  to  her 
husband,  ain't  she,  Beamer,  eh  ?  She'll  do  it  to 
pleash  me." 

Peter,  somewhat  overome  by  his  walk,  sat 
down  upon  the  terrace  step,  but  the  lawyer  stood 
up  unsteadily  and  then  and  there  delivered  the 
following  burst  of  eloquence: 

"There  are  times  in  the  memory  of  man  when 
the  chords  of  his  whole  being  are  touched  by 
strong  hands.  Then  sounds  in  his  soul  some 
immortal  strains  that  make  him  realize  that  he, 
too,  is  akin  to  angels.  That  strong  hand  swept 
my  heart-strings  to-day,  Mr.  Beardsley,  when  I 
found  that  you  had  been  silent  when  one  little 
sentence  would  have  cleared  you.  I  ask  your 
forgiveness,  sir." 

Lucian  shook  his  outstretched  hand  with  a  gay 
laugh.  He  did  not  wonder  that  there  was  a  say- 
ing in  the  county  that  to  have  Beamer  Van  Wye 
win  a  jury  case  he  must  be  "not  too  drunk,  but 
just  drunk  enough." 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

PLUCK  FROM  THE  MEMORY  A  ROOTED  SORROW 

TO  Colonel  Buckman's  profound  astonish- 
ment Dulcie  would  not  promise  him  to 
return  to  Broad  Acres  the  next  morning. 
Peter,  listening  to  her  refusals,  likened  her  to  a 
good  colt  who  had  the  bit  in  her  teeth  and  really 
enjoyed  it.  The  Colonel  was  quite  himself.  He 
spent  the  night  in  Grafton  and  wanted  Dulcie  as 
an  excuse  when  he  went  home.  As  he  could  not 
secure  her,  he  lingered  and,  lingering,  knew  that 
he  was  quite  lost  when  he  saw  the  Broad  Acres 
carriage  drive  up  to  the  hotel  and  Mrs.  Buckman 
in  her  best  array  alight  and  make  inquiries  for 
him  of  the  obsequious  Linas.  The  Manifold 
party  was  sitting  in  the  upper  gallery,  off  the 
parlour  guest-room,  and  the  Colonel  had  to  "  face 
the  music,"  as  he  phrased  it,  in  the  parlour.  The 
interview  was  not  long.  That  all  depended  on  the 
Colonel's  humour.  A  broad  grin  was  on  the  black 


i6o  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

waiter's  face  when  he  presently  appeared  and 
announced  that  Mrs.  Buckman  wished  to  see 
Mrs.  DeWitt  in  the  parlour. 

"I'm  going  right  in  with  you,"  announced 
Kitty.  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  madame,  if  the  Colonel 
is." 

Dulcie  squeezed  her  fat  hand. 

"You'd  better  keep  out  of  it,"  growled  Peter. 
"Women  shouldn't  scrap." 

"No,  only  men,"  retorted  Kitty,  who  had  on 
a  good  gown  and  knew  she  looked  very  pretty, 
"  and  a  fine  mess  they  do  make  of  it  and  their 
reconciliations. " 

She  so  evidently  referred  to  the  revel  of  the 
night  before  which  had  ended  by  Lucian  driving 
the  three  men  to  the  hotel  at  midnight  in  the 
dashing  drag,  that  Peter  hung  his  head.  Dulcie 
and  Kitty  May  opened  the  big  parlour  door  and 
went  in  hand-in-hand.  The  Colonel  was  sitting 
doggedly  upright  on  a  horsehair  sofa,  while  Mrs. 
Buckman  was  more  upright  in  an  arm-chair  be- 
fore him.  She  stared  coldly  at  Kitty  May,  who 
bubbled  over  at  once. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Buckman  ?  So  glad  to 
see  you!" 

Mrs.  Buckman  drew  in  her  lips,  those  lips  that 
could  be  so  gentle  when  she  chose. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Manifold  ?  I  wanted  to 
see  Mrs.  DeWitt.  The  Colonel  won't  go  home 


CHAPTER  TWELVE  161 

without  you,  Dulcie.  Perhaps  you  can  explain  to 
me  first  why  you  left  our  house  last  Thursday 
night  to  seek  shelter  elsewhere." 

"She  did  it  to  save  me  —  thought  I'd  be 
arrested  and  she'd  have  to  testify,  that's 
what!"  growled  the  Colonel,  "and  I  won't 
leave  her  here,  so  I  won't!  I  want  her  at  Broad 
Acres." 

"That's  true,"  broke  in  Kitty  May.  "She  just 
knew  I'd  gladly  keep  her  and  that  she  was  safe  at 
our  house." 

"But  you  went  away  at  night,  Dulcie,"  said 
the  distressed  lady,  "and  Colonel  Buckman 
never  slept  at  all.  I  thought  the  horses  were  sick 
when  he  stayed  out,  but  it  was  because  he  was  so 
worried  by  your  absence.  How  did  you  get  over 
to  the  Manifold  place  at  night  ?  Did  you  go 
alone?" 

"No." 

"Who  went  with  you  ?  Dr.  Snow  told  me  yes- 
terday he  thought  he  passed  you  on  the  pike 
about  one  o'clock.  He  said  that  a  tall  man  was 
with  you." 

Dulcie  felt  cold  all  over,  but  before  she  could 
speak  Kitty  chimed  in  again. 

"  So  there  was.  It  was  Peter.  He  got  word  and 
went  to  meet  her." 

"  Is  that  so,  Dulcie  ?  Did  you  go  expecting  to 
meet  Mr.  Peter  Manifold  ?" 


i6»  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

Dulcie's  head  went  up. 

"Yes,  I  did,  Aunt  Sudie."  It  was  her  first  de- 
liberate lie. 

Mrs.  Buckman  mused. 

"Well,  that  isn't  quite  so  bad.  Is  Mr.  Mani- 
fold about?" 

"I'll  fetch  him,"  said  his  spouse,  who,  as 
she  went  out,  actually  banged  the  door.  There 
would  always  be  an  enmity  between  her  and  Mrs. 
Buckman  for  inexplicable  reasons.  Kitty  May 
went  straight  to  her  husband,  who  still  looked 
gloomy. 

"Want  to  make  up,  Peter?" 

He  reached  out  his  long  arm. 

"Well,  I  should  say  so." 

"Go  in  and  lie,  Peter.  Tell  the  old  lady  that 
you  went  to  meet  Dulcie  and  brought  her  to  your 
home.  You  must." 

"  I'm  no  good  at  lying,  Kit.  It's  bad  doings. " 

"What  —  after  all  those  trickv  horse  sales  and 
races  ?  Now,  Peter!" 

"What  am  I  to  say?" 

"Tell  Mrs.  Buckman  that  you  had  word  and 
met  Dulcie  at  Summer's  Lane.  Stick  to  it  and 
don't  you  say  too  much.  Be  like  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  Peter,  and  lie  like  a  gentleman.  No  one 
will  spoil  it  for  you. " 

Whereupon  Peter  marched  into  the  parlour 
and  told  Mrs.  Buckman,  in  most  freezing  tones, 


CHAPTER  TWELVE  163 

that  Mrs.  DeWitt  could  always  count  on  him  in 
any  time  of  trouble  and  that  he  had  aided  her  and 
would  aid  her  all  he  could. 

Mrs.  Buckman  had,  strange  to  say,  always 
been  a  trifle  in  awe  of  Peter  Manifold.  His  voice 
was  too  gentle  and  his  manner  too  easy  for  a  nor- 
mal human  being,  she  thought.  So  she  said  to 
Dulcie,  who  was  red  with  the  confusion  of  the 
thing,  that  she  hoped  she  would  return  to  Broad 
Acres  for  her  own  sake. 

"You  must  really  excuse  me,  Aunt  Sudie," 
returned  Dulcie.  "I  will  not  go  to  any  house  just 
now.  I  must  stand  alone  for  a  time  and  not  annoy 
other  people  until  everything  is  settled.  I  do 
thank  the  dear  old  Colonel,"  with  a  sad  smile, 
"  but  I  have  decided. " 

Kitty  May  smiled  at  the  intense  relief  in  Mrs. 
Buckman's  face,  and  she  patted  Dulcie  on  the 
back  as  they  left  the  pair  to  arrange  the  terms  of 
the  Colonel's  return.  Kitty  at  once  fell  raptu- 
rously upon  Peter  and  declared  his  acting  per- 
fect. When  Lucian  Beardsley  called  after  dinner 
he  found  every  one  in  a  high  good  humour  and 
the  Colonel  carried  away  by  his  triumphant 
spouse. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Lucian  Beardsley  had 
ever  had  any  opportunity  to  talk  alone  to  his 
cousin  save  on  the  night  of  the  stolen  ride.  It  is 
true  also  that  Kitty  left  Aunt  Reba  and  the  sleep- 


164  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

ing  Eustace  with  her  for  propriety's  sake  while 
she  went  out  with  Peter  to  make  some  purchases. 
Aunt  Reba  was  much  like  a  chocolate  figure- 
head, unhearing  and  unseeing.  Dulcie  in  her 
black  gown  looked  fair  and  calm.  She  held  in  her 
hand  a  scarlet  fan  of  Kitty  May's  that  reflected  a 
glow  upon  her  cheeks. 

"You  decided  to  return  here,  cousin." 

"Yes,  I  want  to  save  something  of  my  prop- 
erty, if  I  can. " 

"And  then?" 

"  Perhaps,  to  go  away.  That,  however,  would 
be  cowardly,  for  I  have  done  nothing  wrong. " 

He  sat  still,  gazing  at  her.  There  was  a  stir  in 
his  blood  whenever  he  looked  that  way.  She 
noted  his  gaze  with  a  look  of  surprise  that 
made  him  say  quickly: 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  so  brave.  But  you  cannot 
stay  here.  I  wish  I  could  offer  you  Paradise  but  I 
cannot,  can  I  ?" 

"No,  you  cannot.  How  long  are  you  going  to 
stay  in  Grafton  ?" 

"It  depends  on  you." 

"On  me?" 

"Altogether." 

She  was  much  startled  and  looked  vaguely 
about  for  aid. 

"Why  on  me?" 

"  Because  when  I  see  what  you  are  going  to  do 


CHAPTER  TWELVE  165 

with  your  life,  I  shall  try  to  help  you.  I  cannot 
until  you  decide." 

"Which  way?" 

He  drew  himself  together. 

"Any  way  —  either  way. " 

She  walked  to  the  railing  and  looked  over  into 
the  street. 

"  I  do  not  see  what  you  can  do  for  me.  I  am  lost. 
I  have  lived  my  life  and  am  dead.  Every  one  of 
my  friends  are  very  kind  and  tender  to  me,  but 
I  am  dead,  cousin,  dead  and  yet  alive  !  " 

"Ah!"  His  self-control  was  very  hard-pushed. 
"What  is  it?" 

"A  fly  near  the  child.  Your  friends  are  all  very 
anxious  on  your  account,  cousin. " 

"Yes." 

"  I  wish  you  would  decide,  so  that  we  would 
know  finally  and  decide  what  your  future  is  to 
be." 

"Suppose,"  she  said  in  a  half  whisper,  "sup- 
pose I  desire  to  go  far  away.  Will  you  help  me  ?" 

"Ask  me  after  —  after  you  decide,"  he  said 
quite  as  quietly.  "  I  really  must  not  influence  you, 
Dulcie,  not  at  all." 

"I  think,"  she  said  to  him  presently,  "I  think 
a  great  change  has  come  over  you  since  we  first 
met.  Then  you  seemed  so  eager  to  do  —  and  act 
—  and  now  ?  " 

"Now  I   am   in  curb,"  he  replied.  "At  that 


1 66  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

time  I  had  given  the  matter  too  little  real 
thought.  Now  it  haunts  me  day  and  night. " 

"Day  and  night,"  she  repeated  softly,  "day 
and  night?" 

In  a  little  time  she  again  turned  her  face  from 
the  street  and  said: 

"You  are  quite  right.  It  is  cowardly  in  me  not 
to  face  the  thing  alone.  I  will  try  to  let  you  know 
in  ten  days  what  I  am  going  to  do." 

"  That  is  ? "  he  queried 

"That  is,  whether  to  satisfy  some  of  my  friends 
by  going  back  to  Glen  Farm,  or  whether  to 
satisfy  my  soul,  I  disappear;  or,  to  satisfy  my 
common-sense,  I  stay  here  and  fight  it  out. " 

He  leaned  over  the  rail  by  some  quick  impulse. 
His  eyes  at  once  met  the  shifting  blue  ones  of  the 
mad  doctor  who  was  standing  below.  A  desire  to 
protect  Dulcie  made  him  take  her  arm  and  lead 
her  into  the  parlour. 

"  DeWitt  is  below, "  he  said.  "  Go  to  your  room 
and  lock  yourself  in.  I  will  remain  here  until  the 
return  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Manifold. " 

When  Dr.  DeWitt  peered  stealthily  into  the 
parlour  a  few  minutes  later  he  saw  only  the 
young  Virginian,  who,  seated  in  a  shady  corner, 
was  intently  reading  from  a  paper-covered  book 
which  was,  in  truth,  only  a  fly-specked  medicine 
almanac. 

The  Manifolds  returned  to  their  home  the 


CHAPTER  TWELVE  167 

following  morning,  Peter  declaiming  that  the 
colts  would  be  ruined  if  he  stayed  away  a  minute 
longer.  Before  they  left,  however,  Colonel  Buck- 
man,  Milly  and  Dulcie's  trunks  arrived  at  the 
hotel,  and  between  the  two  men  Linas  was  made 
to  feel  the  great  importance  and  responsibility 
of  Mrs.  DeWitt's  stay  with  him  and  to  give  the 
strictest  orders  in  regard  to  loafers  and  strollers 
in  the  house,  Dr.  DeWitt  in  particular.  Dulcie 
herself  had  no  apprehensions  but  walked  out 
each  afternoon  with  Milly  and  spent  her  time 
reading  and  sewing.  She  had  her  meals  served  to 
her  in  her  room.  Lucian  did  not  try  to  see  her 
or  to  offer  her  any  civilities  that  would  cause 
comment.  He  bowed  to  her  while  riding  by  and 
sometimes  saw  her  seated  upon  the  gallery. 
When  the  ten  days  were  up,  he  would  once  more 
openly  see  her  and  hear  her  decision. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  the  utmost  surprise 
that  he  saw,  from  his  window,  quite  early  on  the 
morning  of  the  eighth  day,  the  quiet  lawyer, 
Beamer  Van  Wye,  fairly  running  up  the  avenue. 
It  had  rained  the  night  before,  a  heavy  rain 
accompanied  by  high  winds,  thunder,  and  light- 
ning. Van  Wye  saw  no  puddles  in  his  way  and 
even  disregarded  the  flower  beds.  The  man  was 
in  dire  trouble. 

Lucian  met  -him  in  the  vestibule.  The  law- 
yer's face  was  white  and  drawn. 


1 68  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"Have  you  heard  ?" 

"Heard?  What?" 

"  Mrs.  DeWitt  is  gone  —  stolen  out  of  her 
room  last  night  and  some  of  her  clothing  was 
picked  up  on  the  road  out  of  town." 

Lucian  motioned  the  lawyer  into  his  bed- 
room and  finished  his  toilet  without  calling 
John. 

"Who  has  done  such  a  thing  ?" 

"Dr.  DeWitt,  of  course." 

"Where  is  he  ?  Have  they  got  him  ?" 

"He  is  in  town  now." 

"In  custody?" 

"Why  no.  You  can't  arrest  a  man  for  stealing 
his  own  wife." 

"What  does  he  say?" 

"Smiles  and  says  nothing." 

"Are  they  hunting  for  her  ?" 

"We're  going  to,  the  Colonel,  you  and  I  and 
every  man  who  will  volunteer.  We've  sent  for 
Peter  Manifold,  and  Ethelbert  Sugg  has  six  men 
on  horseback  now." 

Lucian  touched  the  bell,  and  while  John  fin- 
ished his  toilet  gave  rapid  orders  to  Summers. 
It  was  astoinishing  how  quick  were  his  thoughts. 
There  were  good  horses  in  his  stables,  three  of 
which  he,  Van  Wye  and  Summers  would  ride. 
The  gardener  was  to  hire  an  extra  horse  and 
report  at  once  at  the  hotel,  John  to  be  there  with 


CHAPTER  TWELVE  169 

the  drag  and  team  and  two  detectives  at  once 
telegraphed  for  from  Lexington. 

There  was  little  more  news  for  Lucian  at  the 
hotel.  Milly  always  slept  in  her  mistress's  room 
on  a  mattress.  She  remembered  nothing  after 
the  two  had  retired  until  she  wakened,  long  past 
her  usual  hour  and  found  the  window  shutters 
open  and  her  mistress  gone.  A  bed  blanket  but 
no  outer  clothing  was  missing,  no  hat  or  cloak. 
There  were  muddy  footsteps  on  the  gallery  floor 
and  there  could  be  but  one  inference.  Dulcie 
had  been  actually  stolen  away  in  the  night. 

At  the  cross-roads  just  north  of  town  had  been 
found  a  stocking  and  a  bit  of  underwear.  These 
Milly  identified  at  once,  but  said,  with  the  sim- 
plest common-sense: 

"She  nevah  take  dat  waist  ner  one  stocking 
wid  her.  Some  one  else  took  dem  tricks  an*  put 
'em  thar." 

When  Lucian  in  hunting  garb  rode  up  to  the 
hotel,  one  of  the  first  persons  he  saw  in  an 
excited  crowd  was  Dr.  DeWitt  with  his  familiar, 
the  lawyer  Graham,  from  Middleport.  He  met 
Ethelbert  Sugg  near  the  door. 

"Sugg,"  he  said,  "find  me  the  sharpest  men 
in  Grafton  who  will  work  to-day  for  money." 

The  tall  Kentuckian  considered  for  a  few 
moments  and  went  out.  He  returned,  accom- 
panied by  a  pale  shoemaker  that  Lucian  recog- 


1 7o  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

nized,  and  the  township  clerk.  It  was  a  simple 
thing  Lucian  asked  of  them  in  exchange  for 
good  wages.  They  were  not  to  lose  sight  of  Dr. 
DeWitt  until  the  Lexington  detectives  arrived. 

"He  may  have  her,"  he  thought  grimly,  "but 
he'll  never  see  her  again  alive  if  I  can  help  it." 

The  crowd  in  the  hotel  bar  seemed  divided 
as  to  whether  to  join  in  the  search  or  not. 

"  If  Dr.  DeWitt's  got  his  wife,  I  don't  feel  no 
call  to  interfere,"  said  the  village  blacksmith 
in  his  strong  voice.  "Not  to  come  between  hus- 
band and  wife.  I  wouldn't  like  it  myself." 

"Nor  I!  Nor  I!"  said  other  voices. 

"Why  don't  he  say  he's  got  her?"  called  out 
another.  "A  man  don't  have  to  crawfish  any 
about  seeing  his  wife.  Let  him  speak  out  like 
a  man." 

"I  don't  choose  to  say  a  word,"  yelled  the 
doctor.  "  I  know  the  law.  The  law  always  is  on 
my  side,  and  my  wife  and  I  could  get  along  if 
there  wasn't  so  much  interfering.  I  don't  have 
to  say  anything." 

"Take  care  you  do  know  the  law  and  all  the 
law,"  said  Beamer  Van  Wye  sneeringly;  "you 
might  be  too  sure." 

"Ain't  I  got  the  law,  Graham  ?"  shouted  the 
doctor.  "Ain't  I?" 

But  Graham  had  disappeared  for  the  time 
being  and  the  doctor  blinked  and  sneered  alone. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE  171 

A  search  party  was  quickly  organized.  So 
many  were  eager  for  the  northern  roads  that 
two  parties  were  sent  out  from  the  hotel  but  in 
opposite  directions.  Beamer  Van  Wye  had  at 
once  set  a  small  printing-press  at  work  on  hastily- 
worded  circulars.  They  offered  a  hundred  dol- 
lars reward  for  any  information  of  Dulcie  or 
her  abductors.  This  stimulated  a  number  of  the 
townspeople,  who  set  off  in  various  directions 
over  hill  and  dale.  By  ten  o'clock  fifty  people 
were  out  and  Lucian  was  still  uncertain  what 
course  to  pursue.  He  had  already  decided  that 
the  clothing  had  been  dropped  to  mislead  and 
that  the  only  clue  lay  in  Dr.  DeWitt.  That 
worthy  was  apparently  asleep  in  an  arm-chair 
in  the  bar-room.  Outside  stood  the  township 
clerk  and  the  pale  shoemaker,  chewing  tobacco 
and  chatting. 

About  noon  Mrs.  Buckman  drove  up  in  her 
carriage.  She  was  entirely  melted  and  thor- 
oughly frightened.  As  the  Colonel  had  taken 
a  party  of  men  up  the  eastern  roads  it  fell  upon 
Lucian  Beardsley  to  go  out  to  her  with  that 
lack  of  information  which  breeds  the  worst 
anxiety. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  he  will  kill  her,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Buckman's  lips,  "and  no  one  be  about. 
He  may  kill  her  this  time,  you  know." 

"She  may  die,  Mrs.  Buckman,  die  of  neglect 


17*  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

or  inhuman  treatment,  but  not  through  him," 
said  Lucian  slowly,  "  for  he  is  here  and  he  never 
will  escape  me  now  to  go  to  her.  Glen  Farm  and 
all  the  cabins  have  been  searched  and  they  will 
be  searched  again.  She  is  not  there,  I  feel  sure." 

Mrs.  Buckman  clasped  her  hands  together. 

"I  can  only  pray  for  her  every  moment. 
Don't  you  lose  sight  of  him  and  you  will  get 
her,  I  am  sure.  Poor,  poor  Dulcie,  poor  martyr!" 

At  noon  Dr.  DeWitt  rose,  mounted  his  horse 
and  started  out  of  the  town.  At  a  little  distance 
behind  him  pounded  the  shoemaker  and  the 
tall  clerk,  both  on  good  horses.  The  doctor  kept 
on  toward  Glen  Farm,  glancing  back  now  and 
again. 

"Are  you  all  following  me?"  he  asked,  wait- 
ing for  them  to  come  up.  "  Because  if  you  are, 
clear  out!" 

The  men  made  no  response  of  any  kind  and 
the  doctor  rode  on,  entering  the  farm.  On 
pounded  the  horses  behind  him. 

"You're  trespassing.  Get  out!  This  is  my 
place,  d'ye  hear  ? " 

But  the  men  paid  no  attention  to  him  and, 
when  he  entered  the  house,  stood,  one  at  each 
entrance  door,  for  a  half  hour. 

"I'm  going  back  to  town,  fools!"  he  shrieked, 
coming  out.  "I'll  have  the  law  on  ye  yet,  see 
if  I  don't." 


CHAPTER  TWELVE  173 

The  Lexington  men  had  arrived  on  the  train 
and  were  busy  with  Lucian  and  the  Colonel, 
who  had  returned  without  any  clue.  The  hand- 
bills would  be  well  over  the  county  by  night. 
The  Lexington  men  thought  it  best  that  Dr. 
DeWitt  should  think  himself  free  from  any 
watch.  This  was  done  and  his  suspicions  were 
somewhat  lulled  by  the  absence  of  the  towns- 
men he  dreaded.  Graham  was  nowhere  about, 
a  circumstance  that  gave  Lucian  much  uneasi- 
ness and  conjecture. 

About  four  o'clock  Peter  Manifold  drove  up 
to  the  hotel  with  Kitty  in  tears,  Aunt  Reba,  and 
Eustace.  The  first  ray  of  comfort  Lucian  Beard- 
sley  and  the  Colonel  had  during  the  dreadful 
day  was  when  the  flushed  and  tear-stained  little 
wife  rushed  into  their  conference. 

"Isn't  it  awful?  But  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
I  could  tell  you  all  just  exactly  where  that  bad 
man  took  Dulcie  and  hid  her!" 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

A  WOMAN'S  NAY  DOTH  STAND  FOR  NAUGHT 

IT'S  no  place  for  you  to  go." 
"  But  I'm  going,  Peter,  if  I  die.  If  she  is 
not  there,  it  won't  hurt  me.  If  she  is  there, 
she'll  want  to  see  a  friendly  woman's  face  mighty 
bad." 

The  two  stood  before  the  round  table  in  the 
big  parlour  where  a  consultation  of  Dulcie's 
friends  was  in  progress.  Peter's  usually  gentle 
face  was  quite  distorted  with  anger. 

"You  stay  right  here  and  take  care  of  the 
baby.  We  can  hunt  up  that  hole  by  ourselves, 
I  say." 

"And  make  a  fine  mess  of  it!"  retorted  Kitty. 
"That  poor  yellow  girl  used  to  be  as  smart  as 
any  of  you.  I  know  her." 

Kitty  May  was  on  the  verge  of  indignant 
tears  but  stuck  to  her  guns. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  tell  it  if  I  was  you!" 
174 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN  175 

"She  came  right  off  the  Le  May  place,  she 
did.  Her  mammy  was  my  mammy  if  you  will 
have  it.  And  she  is  only  about  two  years  older 
than  me  if  she  has  got  seven  children.  That's 
why  I  just  do  hate  Dr.  DeWitt,  I  do!"  she 
breathed  vehemently,  her  eyes  like  stars  with 
anger. 

Peter  subsided  and  Lucian  clapped  his  hands 
softly. 

"O,  Mistress  Kitty  May,  you  are  a  genius, 
you  are!" 

Kitty  May  coloured  and  softened  at  once, 
with  a  glance  like  victory  at  Peter. 

"What  would  be  your  plan  ?"  went  on  Lucian 
deferentially. 

"We  all  will  go  out  there  and  I  will  go  in  first 
and  if  Dulcie  is  there  I  will  get  her." 

"O  no,  no!"  broke  from  all  the  men. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  announced  the  little  soldier, 
"and  I  can  find  out  more  in  ten  minutes  than 
you  can  in  a  whole  year.  I  know  Delia.  She  loves 
me  better  than  anything  yet.  There  won't  be 
any  trouble.  I  can  manage  her  first-rate." 

"It's  too  risky,"  returned  Lucian,  but  this 
time  Peter  put  in. 

"Kitty  May  is  safe  if  that  yellow  woman  is 
her  foster-sister.  I  know  nigger  ways  even  bet- 
ter'n  you  do,  Mr.  Beardsley,  bein'  brought  up 
that  way  and  no  othah.  You  all  see  that  I  never 


176  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

knew  Kitty  May  was  her  breast-sister  or  I'd 
nevah  made  such  a  fuss." 

"It  isn't  such  a  big  risk,"  declared  the  Colo- 
nel, "if  Kitty  May  has  got  the  pluck  to  carry 
it  through.  It  may  save  some  shooting  and  we 
don't  care  to  be  too  free  with  weapons  on  this 
errand.  Let's  try  to  do  things  peaceful  if  we 
can." 

"  But  we'll  take  our  guns,"  observed  Beamer 
Van  Wye,  "for  a  nigger  hasn't  got  the  proper 
respect  nowadays  for  a  white  man  without  a 
gun.  We'll  take  our  guns  and  be  on  the  safe 
side." 

The  plan  agreed  upon  was  that  the  party 
should  at  once  separate  as  if  going  home.  Peter 
and  Kitty  May  were  to  turn  off  at  a  cross  lane 
and  make  for  Ethelbert  Sugg's  house,  which 
was  about  four  miles  down  the  river  and  it  was 
not  far  across  to  the  cabin.  Sugg  proposed  to 
cross  the  stream  with  horses  and  riders  on  a  raft 
made  to  convey  over  hay  and  the  farm  crops, 
and  he  promised  a  short  cut  up  the  hollow. 

Lucian,  Colonel  Buckman,  Van  Wye,  and 
Summers,  with  John,  the  coloured  man,  as  a 
guide,  crossed  the  town  bridge  and  rode  to  meet 
the  raft  party  at  a  place  agreed  upon  soon  after 
dark.  A  plan  to  watch  DeWitt  was  arranged 
with  the  detectives  and  Linas.  The  latter  entered 
into  it  with  much  evident  satisfaction  as  an 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN  177 

opportunity  to  display  a  peculiar  humour.  When 
the  second  party  left  the  hotel  Dr.  DeWitt  was 
still  sleeping  in  the  bar-room  with  his  feet  on 
a  window-sill  and  his  handkerchief  over  his 
face. 

"Darned  old  catamount!"  snapped  Linas, 
"sleeps  all  day  and  prowls  all  night,  he 
does." 

In  the  stables  two  saddled  horses  waited  and, 
at  the  hitching-post,  stood  that  long-suffering 
mare  of  Dr.  De Witt's  that  every  boy  in  Grafton 
and  Middleport  knew  and  pitied,  watered  and 
gave  apples  and  hay  to,  as  another  dumb  vic- 
tim of  his  terrible  habits.  To-night  Linas  him- 
self saw  that  she  was  watered  and  fed  gener- 
ously. 

"She'll  have  work  to  do,"  he  said  grimly, 
"  and  he  never  spares  her." 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  the  doctor  awoke. 

Then  he  stirred,  sniffed  and  grunted  omin- 
ously and  brought  his  feet  down  with  a  thump. 
He  gazed  about  with  vague,  glazed  eyes,  and,  as 
his  senses  woke,  suspiciously.  The  bar-room 
was  more  deserted  than  usual  and  he  failed  to 
find  anything  to  growl  about.  After  a  drink  or 
two  he  turned  to  Linas  who  was  playing  check- 
ers with  Henry  Clay  Taulbee,  the  biggest  man, 
physically,  in  all  Grafton. 

"Row  about  my  wife  all  over?"  he  asked 


I78  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

airily.  "Don't  see  any  policeman  round  sticking 
into  other  folks'  business." 

"Found  her  about  five  o'clock,  I  believe," 
returned  Linas  never  looking  up;  "that's  what 
we  heard,  Doc.  I  s'pose  they  took  her  right  out 
to  Colonel  Buckman's  place  'till  she's  able  to 
tell  jes'  who  broke  into  this  hyah  hotel  o' 
mine." 

"You're  fooling  me,"  cried  the  doctor,  shak- 
ing and  livid  at  once.  "You  are  lying  to 
me." 

"You  are  mighty  sure,"  sneered  the  lank 
Linas.  "Say,  Henry  Clay,  didn't  you  hear  that 
Mis'  DeWitt  had  been  found  ?" 

The  big  Taulbee  took  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth. 

"Ef  Doc  wants  ter  bet,  I'll  match  'im  on 
anything  he  lays  out  that  she's  found." 

"I'll  bet  the  mare  —  no,  I  won't!  Why  should 
I  pay  any  attention  to  you  at  all  ?  She  isn't 
found.  Bah!  what  do  I  care  anyhow?  She's 
nothing  to  me." 

Taulbee  raised  his  big  blue  eyes  inquir- 
ingly. 

"What  you  makin'  sech  a  'tarnal  fuss  fer, 
then  ?  She's  found  all  right  and  you'll  be  in  the 
soup-pot,  won't  ye  ? " 

The  doctor  dashed  into  the  darkness  with 
much  of  the  profanity  for  which  he  was  noted. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN  179 

Linas  put  his  head  out  of  the  back  door  and 
whistled.  Out  of  the  darkness  two  riders  went 
after  the  flying  figure. 

"He'll  never  stop  'til  he's  sure  pop,"  said 
Linas,  "and  we  all  spoke  the  truth.  She's  good 
as  found  now." 

The  searchers  met  at  the  place  appointed  in 
the  dewy  summer  night.  The  raft  made  a  slow 
passage  over  by  a  wire  fastened  between  trees. 
Kitty  May  hugged  a  bundle  which  she  would 
not  relinquish.  Lucian's  heart  beat  warm  with 
gratitude  as  he  surmised  that  it  was  clothing 
for  the  kidnapped  wife. 

They  rode  almost  in  silence  over  several 
meadows  and  not  only  Ethelbert  but  Kitty  May 
seemed  to  know  every  step  of  the  way.  They 
struck  the  rocky  creek  bed  a  little  farther  on 
and  proceeded  another  mile  or  more.  Then 
Kitty  stopped. 

"Eth,  you  all  can  hear  the  river  at  the  Big 
Bend.  It  is  time  to  stop  and  tie  up  the  horses." 

John  was  left  to  keep  an  outlook,  but  within 
call. 

"If  Dr.  DeWitt  came  over  would  he  come  up 
the  creek  bed  ?"  whispered  Lucian  to  Sugg. 

The  tall  man  shook  his  head. 

"The  river  makes  three  turns  and  isn't  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  distant.  Beyond  the  river  a 
half  mile  lies  Glen  Farm.  He  has  a  boat." 


i8o  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

Presently  Kitty  May  stopped  them  again. 
Across  a  rough  bit  of  plowed  ground  shone  a 
light. 

"There's  the  house,  and  only  one  light.  Give 
me  fifteen  minutes  and  if  I  don't  come  out, 
Peter,  you  steal  up,  will  you  ?" 

Peter  growled  something  into  her  ear. 

"O,  I'm  not  afraid  of  Delia  at  all.  Yes,  I've 
got  the  pistol  in  my  pocket.  I'll  be  all  right." 

She  walked  out  into  the  open  and  struck 
boldly  across  the  plowed  ground.  As  she  neared 
the  cabin  the  door  opened  and  a  voice  called 
out: 

"Whodatoutdar?" 

"Mis'  Kitty  May,  Delia.  Come  out  here. 
I  must  speak  to  you." 

The  door  was  slammed  shut  but  in  a  moment 
was  opened  again. 

"What  you  all  heah  foah  at  dark  night,  Mis' 
Kitty  May?" 

"Let  me  in  and  I'll  tell  you,  Delia.  I  come 
to  save  my  foster-sister  from  big  trouble." 

The  listeners  heard  a  loud  sobbing. 

"I  has  lots  o'  trouble,  Miss  Kitty  May,  but 
I  can't  let  you  in." 

Kitty  May  beat  at  the  door. 

"Let  me  in,  Delia.  I  came  to  save  you  more 
trouble.  I'm  your  friend  and  I  came  to  save 
you." 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN  181 

A  shrill  voice  called  out: 

"Go  'way  you!  I'll  tell  my  paw." 

Kitty  still  beat  at  the  door  with  her  small 
hands. 

"I'm  out  here  and  I  will  not  go  away,  Delia. 
Let  me  in,  old  mammy's  girl." 

A  small  crevice  of  light  showed  again. 

"Let  me  in,  Delia,  or  send  out  that  poor 
woman  that's  in  there.  The  whole  country  is 
searching  for  her.  I  know  she  is  there." 

"Is  that  all  yuh  frien'  dat  war  hyah  onct, 
Mis'  Kitty  May  ?  I  war  dead  afeared  o'  dat." 

"Of  course  it  is.  Of  all  the  things  the  doctor 
has  done,  this  one  is  the  worst.  Do  you  want  to 
be  put  in  prison,  Delia  ?" 

The  door  opened  but  the  distorted  cripple 
was  seen  on  the  floor,  pushing  against  it  with  all 
his  strength. 

"You  hesh  up!  This  is  our  house.  I'll  tell  my 
paw.  He'll  shuah  kill  you,"  he  shrieked. 

Kitty  May  pushed  him  aside  pitilessly. 

She  was  in  the  rooms  now,  running  and  look- 
ing about  in  spite  of  the  frightened  children. 
Two  of  the  rooms  were  as  usual,  but  the  third, 
opening  out  of  the  bedroom,  was  closed.  Kitty's 
quick  eyes  at  once  saw  that  the  door  was  not 
closed  but  had  been  recently  nailed  up. 

"She's  in  there,  Delia,"  she  cried,  "and  you 
will  surely  go  to  prison  for  it.  You  must  get  her 


182  THE  ANCIENT   LANDMARK 

right  out  before  those  men  come  in  and  find  her 
here.  Don't  you  know  who  she  is,  Delia  ?  Don't 
you  know?" 

"She  is  de  doctah's  patient,  and  she's  gone 
plumb  mad.  He's  goin'  try  curin'  her  with  fresh 
air  out  here,  Mis'  Kitty.  She  was  brung  here  by 
her  brother  last  night." 

"A  most  wicked  lie!"  replied  Kitty  May 
solemnly.  "She  is  Dr.  DeWitt's  wife.  She  don't 
want  to  live  with  him  any  longer  because  she 
saw  those  poor  children.  He  stole  her  away  last 
night  and  he  sent  her  here." 

With  a  wild  yell,  too  much  like  that  of  a 
wounded  animal,  poor  Delia  sprang  out  of  the 
door  into  the  darkness.  Ere  the  anxious  party  in 
the  bushes  had  time  to  reach  the  house  the  wo- 
man dashed  into  the  kitchen  with  a  great  axe 
and  began  chopping  at  the  closed  door  with 
mighty  strokes.  A  furious  strength  possessed 
her  and  three  or  four  blows  broke  through  the 
planks.  On  the  floor  within  lay  Dulcie  DeWitt, 
barefooted,  and  clad  only  in  an  old  gown  belong- 
ing to  the  negress.  She  crouched  low  in  an  agony 
of  terror.  With  the  last  stroke  of  the  axe  and  one 
mighty  kick  the  door  fell  and  Lucian  Beardsley 
dashed  in  and  raised  up  the  shrinking  figure 
of  his  kinswoman. 

"Is  she  alive?"  came  many  anxious  voices. 
" Is  she  all  right?" 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN  183 

"Give  her  to  me,  Mr.  Beardsley,"  said  Kitty 
May  in  her  sharpest  voice,  "  and  do  get  her  some 
water.  Well,  Delia,  you  see  I  was  right.  You 
always  would  believe  everything  that  wicked, 
wicked  man  said  to  you." 

There  was  a  sudden  yell  of  delight  from  the 
cripple: 

"There's  my  paw!" 

Dr.  DeWitt  stood  in  the  doorway,  his  face 
livid  and  distorted  with  fury. 

"A  nice  set  of  people,  you  all,  to  come  after 
another  man's  wife.  I'll  have  it  out  of  you  yet. 
And  who  broke  in  that  door  ?  This  is  my  house 
and  my  land." 

But  the  octoroon  sprang  forward. 

"This  hyah's  my  house,"  she  said  sullenly. 
"Ye  onct  gib  me  papers  and  I  broked  down  my 
own  door,  d'ye  heah  ?  I  can  do  it  if  I  want  ter 
do  it,  d'ye  heah  ?  I'm  not  yuh  wife,  am  I  ?" 

"I'll  give  you  a  taste  of  this  whip,"  cried  the 
man  furiously,  "you  see  if  I  don't." 

A  half  dozen  pistols  were  out  in  a  second  but 
heavy  hands  fell  on  the  doctor's  shoulders  from 
behind. 

"You  led  us  a  fine  chase,  didn't  you?"  said 
one  of  the  Lexington  men  coolly,  "but  your 
neighbours  also  have  boats,  doctor." 

"We  will  take  him  back  to  Grafton  with 
us,"  said  the  other  man;  "if  he  resists  we  can 


1 84  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

clap  him  in  jail  for  breach  of  peace,  that's 
all." 

Kitty  May,  sobbing  for  very  relief,  was  wrap- 
ping a  cloak  around  Dulcie  and  tying  on  her 
shoes.  Delia  crept  over  the  floor  and  tried  to 
look  up  into  her  eyes. 

"I  did  dat  all  foah  you,  Mis'  Kitty  May  honest 
to  God.  He'll  kill  me  yet,  but  I  did  it  foah  you. 
He  said  she  war  plumb  mad,  'deed  he  did." 

"Never  do  anything  like  it  again,"  said  Kitty 
May  earnestly,  "  or  you'll  surely  go  to  prison  for 
it.  If  you  do,  don't  come  to  me.  Old  mammy 
wasn't  your  kind.  She  was  good  as  gold,  honest 
and  true." 

They  left  Delia  crouched  on  the  floor,  the 
frightened  children  wailing.  Lucian  Beardsley 
and  the  Colonel  supported  Dulcie,  Van  Wye 
and  Summers  followed.  Kitty  May  was  almost 
hysterical  and  wanted  to  talk  to  her  husband 
and  Ethelbert  Sugg  at  the  same  time. 

John  appeared  in  answer  to  his  master's  whis- 
tle. He  had  the  big  chestnut  in  lead. 

"Wait,"  said  Lucian  in  his  assertive  way, 
"wait,  John." 

He  sprang  upon  the  chestnut  and  held  out 
his  arms. 

"Up  with  her,  Colonel,"  he  said,  "up  with 
my  cousin.  After  to-night  I  stand  back  for  no 
man." 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN  185 

They  lifted  her  without  any  protest.  He  set 
her  before  him  without  a  look  at  the  others. 

"Go  on!"  he  said  quietly,  "I  will  keep  with 
you  as  you  walk." 

He  had  her  within  his  arm  under  the  dark 
boughs.  Her  head  fell  onto  his  shoulder  with 
her  woe  and  weakness.  Only  once  he  heard  her 
murmur  something  under  her  breath. 

"Yes  ?  what  is  it  ?  Do  you  want  anything  ?" 

But  she  only  repeated  fearfully,  wonderingly: 

"For  the  wages  of  sin  is  death." 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

CAPTIVE  TO  HIS  HONEYED  WORDS 

THEN  began  to  go  up  and  down  the 
county  as  the  summer  passed  many 
strange  rumours  as  to  the  state  of  affairs 
at  Broad  Acres.  The  even  tenor  of  the  Buckman 
marital  compact  was  in  some  way  disturbed.  The 
horseman  absented  himself  much  from  home,  he 
smoked  furiously  and  rode  hard.  His  wife  was 
more  erect,  dignified  and  saintly-appearing  than 
ever.  The  negroes  whispered  with  regret  how  the 
"ole  Kunnel"  slept  in  the  spare  room  and  that 
"Mis'  Sudie's  temper"  was  a  torment  and  a 
caution. 

The  trouble,  sad  to  say,  was  about  Dulcie. 
It  arose  from  the  fact  that  her  kinsman  carried 
her  from  the  cabin  of  the  negress  straight  to 
the  house,  Paradise;  that  there  he  gave  her  into 
the  care  of  John's  wife  and  that  he  and  Beamer 
Van  Wye  patrolled  the  grounds  all  night.  In  the 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN  187 

morning  he  moved  out  his  personal  possessions 
and  left  Dulcie  actual  mistress  of  the  place  with 
Summers  and  John  as  a  guard.  He  went  to 
Lexington  to  consult  a  great  lawyer,  one  whose 
name  had  been  known  in  the  halls  of  Congress 
for  two  generations.  Acting  on  his  advice,  Lu- 
cian  sent  down  an  extra  man  and  at  once  pushed 
on  to  Richmond.  At  home  there  and  by  the 
magic  of  his  wealth,  he  finally  secured  the  widow 
of  a  Confederate  general  to  chaperone  Dulcie 
and  he  reached  Graftonwith  her  in  ten  days' time. 
Mrs.  General  Head  did  not  come  unwillingly 
or  ignorantly.  She  knew  exactly  what  was  ex- 
pected of  her  when  she  placed  a  large  check  to 
her  credit  in  a  Richmond  bank.  She  came  pre- 
pared to  champion  Dulcie  DeWitt  and  to  stand 
between  her  and  the  good  folk  of  the  county. 
In  her  young  days  she  had  been  a  great  belle  and 
still  had  much  more  spirit  than  her  relatives 
liked.  Lucian  gravely  assured  her  that  her  spirit 
would  be  worth  money  to  her  if  she  could  use 
it  in  the  right  way.  Mrs.  Head  —  known  gener- 
ally as  "Mrs.  General"  —  assured  him  that  she 
snuffed  the  battle  from  afar.  Always  elegantly 
gowned  and  impressive,  she  at  once  packed  up 
seven  trunks,  and  with  her  own  maid  was  ready 
to  return  to  Grafton  with  Lucian.  She  fully  un- 
derstood that  she  was  to  take  up  Dulcie's  cause, 
and  that  with  a  vengeance. 


1 88  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

The  ten  days  of  Lucian's  absence  passed  un- 
eventfully at  Paradise.  For  three  or  four  of 
them  Dulcie  was  too  prostrated  even  to  notice 
the  unremitting  attentions  of  her  new  house- 
hold. Lucian  wrote  her  from  Lexington  asking 
her  to  remain  in  the  house  quietly  and  to  allow 
Summers  to  manage  everything.  He  also  wrote 
her  that  he  would  return  to  protect  her  and 
bring  a  woman  friend  with  him.  Mrs.  DeWitt 
was  too  horribly  shaken  by  her  latest  experience 
even  to  reason.  She  could  not  read  the  books 
and  she  did  not  care  to  look  at  the  boxes  of 
sweets  Lucian  sent  her  by  mail.  She  not  only 
had  Milly  to  sleep  at  night  on  a  mattress  at  the 
foot  of  her  bed,  but  Summers  must  be  on  a  cot 
in  the  hallway.  She  trembled  at  every  sound. 

In  the  meantime  the  county  was  in  a  ferment. 
Dulcie  DeWitt  had  gone  to  live  in  her  cousin's 
house,  a  cousin  so  far  removed  that  no  one  could 
grade  the  relationship,  still  a  cousin.  Dr.  De- 
Witt  went  free.  A  man  cannot  be  held  for  kid- 
napping his  own  wife.  He  laughed  and  boasted 
and  declared  that  Dulcie  went  away  with  him 
willingly  —  that  if  Lucian  Beardsley  and  that  set 
would  not  interfere  Dulcie  would  at  once  return 
to  Glen  Farm.  He  intimated  in  strong,  choice 
and  peculiar  language  that  he  could  and  would 
now  make  it  particularly  red  hot  for  her  if  she 
put  in  a  petition  for  divorce. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN  189 

Mrs.  Buckman  was  ready,  on  that  night  of 
Dulcie's  rescue,  to  receive  her  and  take  her  at 
once  to  Broad  Acres.  She  waited,  weary,  heart- 
sick and  anxious  on  the  upper  porch  of  the  little 
hotel  until,  with  no  small  amount  of  noise,  the 
rescue  party  rode  into  the  village  and  she  saw 
Lucian  Beardsley  riding  ahead  with  Dulcie  in 
his  arms,  Kitty  May  at  his  side.  Her  good  reso- 
lutions died  within  her  at  the  sight.  Had  she 
spoken  then  Dulcie  would  never  have  gone  to 
Paradise,  but,  during  those  hesitating  moments 
in  front  of  the  hotel,  Lucian  Beardsley  under- 
stood and  resented,  with  the  fiercest  of  reso- 
lutions, Mrs.  Buckman's  feelings. 

"My  poor  girl!  Well,  mercy  for  mercy,  fight 
for  fight.  She  must  go  to  Paradise." 

Then  he  rode  on  with  his  burden. 

An  hour  later  Colonel  Buckman  returned  to 
the  hotel  with  Lucian  Beardsley  and  Beamer  Van 
Wye.  His  wife  was  bonneted  and  in  wait.  It  was 
long  after  midnight.  The  Colonel  called  up  the 
carriage  and  roused  the  sleepy  men.  He  put  his 
wife  into  it  and  stood  with  his  foot  upon  the  step. 

"You  will  be  perfectly  safe  going  home  alone," 
he  said,  "  and  there  is  too  much  for  me  to  do  here 
to  go  out  with  you. " 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  she  cried  with 
trembling  hands.  "What  can  be  done  ?" 

"What  is  done,  we  three  men,  Kitty  May  and 


190  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

Peter  Manifold  will  do,"  he  said  meaningly, 
"  and  I  will  come  home  as  soon  as  I  can  to  look 
after  Favorite.  She  was  a  very  sick  mare  yes- 
terday. " 

Kitty  May  stayed  loyally  at  Paradise  with 
Dulcie,  but  Eustace's  continued  fretfulness  next 
morning  developed  into  a  case  of  measles  and 
the  parents  were  forced  to  hurry  off  home  with 
him.  He  was  a  much  sicker  child  than  they  ever 
let  Dulcie  know,  and  this  illness  kept  Kitty  May 
away  during  Lucian's  entire  absence. 

Colonel  Buckman's  announcement  to  his  wife 
that  Lucian  Beardsley  had  installed  Dulcie  at 
Paradise  was  received  with  a  burst  of  tears.  He 
watched  her  very  grimly,  puffing  at  his  pipe. 

"  It  is  the  end,  the  very  end ! "  she  sobbed,  "  and 
that  is  what  it  has  actually  come  to,  after  all 
Dulcie  has  been  taught  and  told." 

"Where  else  could  she  go  ?"  queried  the  Colo- 
nel. "You  never  asked  her  here.  You  made  a 
fool  of  me.  I  had  been  urging  it,  and  you  were 
dumb.  Where  could  she  go  to  be  safe  from  that 
scoundrel  ?" 

"She  will  really  have  to  marry  him  —  I  mean 
Mr.  Beardsley. 

The  Colonel  grunted,  but  merely  puffed  away. 

"I  just  cannot  give  my  support  to  anything 
about  that  divorce,"  said  Mrs.  Buckman  in  a 
much  firmer  voice.  "I  am  setting  myself  up 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN  191 

against  all  of  you,  but  the  day  will  come  when 
Dulcie  will  know  that  I  am  exactly  right.  And  I 
will  stand  against  you  all  if  it  kills  me.  You  may 
rescue  her  body,  Colonel,  but  you  all  are  going  to 
kill  her  immortal  soul." 

The  Colonel  made  no  reply.  He  was  not  in  a 
good  humour  to  discuss  souls.  His  mare  was  dead 
and  the  woman  he  regarded  almost  as  a  daughter 
was  in  terrible  sorrow.  He  was  bitterly  hurt  at  his 
own  impotence  in  the  matter,  and  it  was  his 
wife's  "notions"  that  had  placed  him  in  such  a 
false  position.  So  the  rift  widened. 

He  rode  every  day  to  see  "  his  girl,"  as  he  fond- 
ly called  her.  He  would  tiptoe  into  the  room  and 
sit  by  her  bedside.  Her  tears  wet  his  stubby  red 
hand  as  she  held  it  to  her  cheek.  Seeing  her  mis- 
ery, his  heart  grew  harder  toward  the  cruel 
world  and  his  wife. 

Even  Beamer  Van  Wye  was  somewhat 
surprised  at  the  interest  Dulcie's  residence  at 
Paradise  excited.  Whether  it  was  sympathy 
or  curiosity,  many  a  carriage  drove  up  the  rose- 
bordered  avenue  to  make  inquiries  during  the 
fortnight  and  to  leave  cards. 

There  were  frequent  consultations  between 
the  Colonel  and  the  lawyer.  They  sat  on  the 
grass  plot  in  front  of  the  frame  office  of  the  latter, 
every  afternoon.  The  ground  was  quite  bare 
when  their  feet  shuffled  to  and  fro.  One  day 


I9z  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

there  came  a  long  letter  from  Lucian  that  pleased 
both  men  immensely.  They  solemnly  adjourned 
to  the  most  hospitable  shelter  of  Linas's  bar- 
room and  there  shook  hands  over  several  glasses 
of  mint  julep.  When  the  genial  effects  of  these 
had  accomplished  their  work,  it  was  decided  that 
it  was  only  fair  to  Peter  Manifold  that  he  should 
know  all  about  it  and  they  mounted  their  horses 
for  a  long  ride  in  the  interests  of  friendship  and  a 
good  piece  of  news. 

Eustace  was  better,  but  such  a  tiny  white 
wraith  of  himself  that  the  men  both  gulped  some- 
thing down  when  they  looked  at  him  as  he  lay 
on  his  mother's  lap  in  the  gallery.  There  was  the 
remnants  of  a  dumb  fear  in  Peter's  mild  eyes  and 
of  a  dumb  grief  and  passion  in  Kitty  May's.  The 
two  had  fought  against  great  odds  for  the  little 
child's  life  and  were  as  yet  hardly  aware  of  their 
victory.  Kitty  May  would  yield  the  babe  to  no 
one.  Aunt  Reba  crouched  by  the  pillow  on  which 
he  lay  and  gently  fanned  both  mother  and 
child. 

The  two  rejoiced  greatly  at  the  news  of  Mrs. 
General  Head's  coming.  Kitty's  heart  thrilled  so 
that  it  lifted  away  the  lingering  dread  and  she 
was  once  more  able  to  smile  and  be  hopeful.  It 
was  a  relief  to  hear  of  the  outside  world,  of  the 
strong,  protecting  arm  Lucian  was  throwing 
around  Dulcie.  Kitty  May  smiled  and  the  flower- 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN  193 

like  bloom  of  her  charming,  piquant  face  some- 
what returned. 

"Law,  I'm  so  glad  to  hear  of  it!  Mrs.  General 
Head !  That  is  a  right  big  name,  isn't  it,  Peter  ? 
Dulcie  will  be  so  swell  she  will  not  look  at  we  all 
any  moah.  You  all  will  never  know  how  I  wanted 
to  be  with  Dulcie,  but  Eustace  here  —  well,  Colo- 
nel, Eustace  has  been  pretty  sick." 

Her  voice  broke  a  little,  then  went  on  bravely: 

"We  all  will  have  to  take  the  next  boat  to  Cin- 
cinnati foah  good  clothes  to  wear.  We  take  the 
Richmond  papers  —  Peter's  pa  took  them  before 
the  wah  —  and  I  do  read  all  the  big  society 
news.  I've  seen  Mrs.  General  Head's  name  over 
a  hundred  times,  and  such  fine  dresses  as  she 
always  has!  Peter,  just  hand  me  a  dozen  or  so 
papers  off  that  Richmond  pile.  I  will  find  you 
something  about  her,  see  if  I  don't. " 

Peter,  the  gladness  of  great  relief  in  his  eyes, 
went  obediently.  Kitty  May  caressed  Eustace's 
fingers  as  she  rattled  on  gaily: 

"I'm  with  you  all,  heart  and  soul.  I  do  want 
Dulcie  to  keep  up  heart.  Some  one's  got  to  stand 
by  her  or  she'll  break  up.  She's  got  a  terrible 
trouble  and  she's  so  alone.  Every  one  must 
consider  that." 

"  I'm  sure,"  she  rattled  on,  "that  if  Nancy  was 
here  she  would  make  it  up  with  Dulcie,  now 
she's  in  such  trouble.  So  I  says  to  Peter,  'You 


194  THE   ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

married  cousinship  in  marrying  Nance,  and 
I'll  take  it  up.'  We're  Dulcie's  cousins  too,  and 
we're  going  to  stand  by  her  ef  she  goes  to  court. 
And  my  pa,  John  May,  will  come  with  us.  Pa 
isn't  counted  on  by  some  as  right  in  the  county 
bluebloods,  but  he's  shorely  known  as  a  square 
man.  Won't  we  all  make  up  a  party,"  she 
laughed  out,  "all  of  us  in  our  best  clothes  and 
Mrs.  General  Head  in  the  best  clothes  of  all?" 

Beamer  Van  Wye  drew  his  chair  near  to  her 
and  bent  over  Eustace  tenderly. 

"Kitty  May,"  he  said  softly,  "I  never  was 
married  and  never  had  any  daughters,  but  I  won- 
der if  I  couldn't  adopt  you  and  Eustace  some." 

Kitty  May  regarded  him  with  most  apprecia- 
tive eyes. 

"  I  don't  know  what  pa  would  say.  He's  awful 
proud  of  me.  But  you're  one  of  the  few  I  wouldn't 
mind  having  for  Eustace's  grandpa,  you  and  the 
Colonel.  I  feel  like  you  all  sort  o'  belonged.  Only 
don't  you  all  coax  Peter  into  too  many  juleps.  I 
do  have  to  lecture  at  him  so  after  them,  you 
know.  I  'most  wish  I  could  scare  him  with 
Nance's  rising  about  it. " 

Peter  came  in  with  the  papers  and  gently  de- 
posited them  on  a  chair  by  his  wife. 

"Do  you  want  to  hold  Eustace  just  a  little 
minute,  Mammy  Reba  ? "  said  Kitty  May,  beam- 
ing down  on  the  black  woman.  "  I  know  you  are 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN  195 

dying  to  do  it.  See,  he's  looking  at  you.  Take  him 
very  careful,  Mammy.  There,  he's  smiling  just  a 
little,  my  precious  little  life !  And  now  —  let's 
see—" 

Kitty  turned  over  the  papers  and  finally  waved 
one  in  triumph. 

"  Here  it  is !  Want  to  hear  it  ?  Mrs.  General 
Head  at  the  Jefferson  Nixons's  ball.  I  knew  I  had 
it.  Now  you  all  do  listen.  '  Mrs.  General  Head 
chaperoned  several  young  girls  from  Baltimore 
and  the  east  coast,  among  them  the  Misses  De 
Jong,  Leadau  and  Mason.  Mrs.  Head  was  ele- 
gant in  a  decollete  black  gown  of  Chantilly  net 
with  very  open  jet  Empire  cements  extremely  be- 
coming to  her  style.  In  the  scarf  drapery  of  the 
bodice  were  tied  small  bouquets  of  roses.  Dia- 
monds completed  this  very  elegant  costume/  * 

An  impressive  silence  followed.  The  Colonel 
was  thinking  of  tawny-haired  Dulcie  in  her  sim- 
ple black  gown,  Beamer  Van  Wye  of  the  strange 
freak  of  Fate  that  was  bringing  Mrs.  General 
Head  to  Grafton.  But,  somehow,  all  were  un- 
expectedly comforted  and  the  future  looked 
much  brighter. 

One  summer  day  Lucian's  telegram  from 
Lexington  came,  ordering  dinner  for  a  party  of 
four  and  saying  that  he  had  Mrs.  Head  with  him 
and  that  he  wanted  Beamer  Van  Wye  to  dine  at 
Paradise.  At  five  o'clock  the  arrivals  came  up  the 


196  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

avenue  in  the  trap  and  Dulcie,  very  wan  and 
trembling,  stood  alone  in  the  hall  and  watched 
the  party  alight. 

What  had  she  to  do  with  these  fine  people  ? 
With  Mrs.  General  so  splendid  in  feathers,  laces 
and  silk  ?  With  Lucian  in  his  light  clothing  and 
Panama  hat  ?  With  even  Beamer  Van  Wye  in  his 
threadbare  garb  but  with  his  distinguished  air  ? 
These  were  people  of  a  world  wholly  apart  from 
her  and  her  woes.  She  looked  down  at  her  own 
shabby  gown,  black  and  of  no  particular  cut.  She 
fled  away,  but  Lucian  was  in  at  the  doors,  seeking 
her  at  once. 

"Dulcie,  my  cousin,  here  is  my  friend,  Mrs. 
Head,  come  to  keep  you  company. " 

He  felt  all  her  shrinking,  her  hesitancy.  But 
there  was  in  it  something  youthful  as  well  as  pa- 
thetic. His  enthusiasm  lent  her  a  little  courage, 
and  when  he  led  her  out  to  the  terrace  she  had 
somewhat  recovered.  Mrs.  Head  had  generously 
endeavoured  to  reconcile  Lucian's  many  con- 
flicting statements  about  Dulcie.  She  flattered 
herself  that  she  understood  men,  but  when  the 
prince  led  out  this  shabby  but  very  fair  creature 
in  distress,  she  drew  her  breath  a  little  sharply. 
This  was  indeed  a  real  Kentucky  princess,  and 
O !  forlorn  and  really  lovely  enough  to  be  forgiven 
all  the  trouble  she  was  causing  everybody. 

"  I  may  come  in,  may  I  not  ? "  Mrs.  General  said 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN  197 

brightly, "  for  this  Paradise  of  yours  is  so  beauti- 
ful I  can  hardly  believe  I  am  to  stay  here  a  while. 
Howluckyyou  are  to  have  sucha  home,my  dear. " 

Dulcie's  head  went  up. 

"My  cousin  only  lent  it  to  me.  It  is  all  his 
taste.  And  because  you  are  his  friend,  I  am  glad 
to  have  you  come." 

"Well  said!"  thought  Lucian.  "She  will  do  — 
with  some  new  clothes,  and  O!  if  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral can  but  persuade  her  into  those  things  she 
bought  for  her  in  Richmond." 

But  for  several  days  it  was  a  dangerous  sub- 
ject. Dulcie  grew  painfully  red  if  new  gowns  were 
proposed  to  her,  and  shook  her  head. 

It  was  then  that  the  real  trouble  at  Broad 
Acres  arose.  Lucian  buttonholed  the  Colonel 
on  the  public  square  and  took  him  to  Paradise  to 
call  and  to  lunch.  Straightway  he  fell  a  victim  to 
Mrs.  General's  hospitable  wiles,  as  had  Beamer 
Van  Wye.  He  waxed  even  more  paternal  towards 
Dulcie  as  he  drank  champagne  and  told  her  that 
she  must  obey  her  kind  friends  in  every  way  and 
be  thankful  to  Providence  that  had  raised  them 
up  for  her. 

Lucian  grimaced  a  little,  but  Mrs.  General,  in  a 
private  tete-a-tete  with  him  on  the  rose-bordered 
terrace,  gave  him  her  opinion  of  Dulcie's  great 
charm  and  her  stubbornness  as  to  gowns. 
Gowns  and  chiffon  were  absolutely  necessary  to 


THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 


happiness  in  Mrs.  General's  mind.  They  would 
be  such  a  consolation  to  Dulcie,  and  so  becoming. 
Dulcie  must  show  the  world  what  she  really  was. 
The  inevitable  was  coming.  The  divorce  petition 
was  preparing  and,  in  the  fall,  Dulcie  must  go 
into  court  a  lovely,  radiant  woman  and  show  the 
whole  county  what  a  real  ornament  to  Kentucky 
society  Dr.  DeWitt  had  been  hiding  away  and 
abusing  so  scandalously. 

The  Colonel  was  quite  convinced  that  nothing 
could  avert  the  divorce.  He  was  glad  to  be  swept 
away  by  the  eloquence  of  an  elegant,  perfumed 
lady  of  fashion  who  also  amused  and  entertained 
him.  Unwisely  he  went  home  and  in  his  exhilara- 
tion declared,  not  only  his  intention  of  standing 
by  Dulcie  in  October,  but  rather  too  openly  ex- 
pressed his  admiration  for  Mrs.  General.  Such  a 
thing  had  never  happened  before.  Mrs.  Buck- 
man  was  indignant  and  she  expressed  it,  where- 
upon the  Colonel  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  some 
memorable  words. 

"Sudie,  you're  an  angel  and  a  model  of  good- 
ness, but  you  do  not  know  anything  of  modern 
society. " 

Mrs.  Buckman  retaliated  by  declaring  that  she 
would  never  call  on  Mrs.  General  or  on  Dulcie 
while  she  was  at  Paradise.  She  said  they  did  not 
belong  there.  Her  husband  coolly  retorted  that, 
if  he  had  had  his  way,  Dulcie  would  still  be  with 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN  199 

them  and  that  he  should  certainly  visit  her  and 
console  her  all  he  could.  He  put  on  his  best  white 
duck  suit  the  next  afternoon  and  went  to  dinner. 
Mrs.  Buckman  spent  a  sorrowful  and  prayerful 
night  and  then  determined  to  extend  the  olive 
branch  of  peace.  Accordingly,  she  also  put  on  her 
best  array  and  suddenly  swooped  down  upon  the 
two  women. 

Never  in  its  palmiest  days  had  Paradise  been  so 
beautiful.  It  was  gay  with  awnings,  ornamented 
with  palms  and  ferns  and  roses  in  great  pots  and 
green  tubs  as  well  as  blooming  in  the  garden. 
There  were  bamboo  couches  and  chairs,  swing- 
ing divans  with  dozens  of  silken  cushions,  straw 
mats  and  rugs  in  gayest  colors  about  the  terrace. 
An  electric  fan  kept  up  a  delightful  whir,  and, 
in  the  subdued  light  on  the  eastern  terrace,  sat 
Mrs.  General  in  a  white  lace  gown  that  left  little 
to  be  imagined  as  to  a  pair  of  plump  shoulders 
and  arms. 

"Every  day  as  old  as  I  am,"  thought  Mrs. 
Buckman,  "and  dressed  like  that!  Um-m-m!" 

No  wonder  her  really  warm  heart  trembled  for 
Dulcie.  Dulcie  had  been  so  carefully  reared,  and 
lived  so  quietly,  that  Mrs.  Buckman's  face  burn- 
ed resentfully.  She  looked  about  for  "the  child" 
as  she  thought  of  her,  the  child  she  had  sheltered 
and  nursed  to  return  to  misery  because  misery 
was  her  duty. 


200  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

But  Dulcie  was  not  easily  carried  away.  She 
came  in  from  the  rose-bushes  a  few  moments 
after.  It  was  very  warm,  but  the  only  concession 
Dulcie  had  made  to  the  weather  was  in  a  thin 
white  waist  with  a  bit  of  lace  at  the  throat.  She 
was  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  "Aunt  Sudie"  and 
fairly  clung  to  her.  Mrs.  General  really  liked  and 
admired  Dulcie,  and  it  gave  her  a  pang  of  jeal- 
ousy to  see  how  she  held  to  this  faded  woman 
who  had  a  superior  air  although  she  wore 
clothes  that  Mrs.  General  knew  would  be  pro- 
nounced "dowdy"  by  her  maid. 

But  Mrs.  Buckman  felt  at  once  the  subtle 
changes  in  Dulcie,  the  little  new  graces  and  man- 
nerisms caught  up  by  constant  intercourse  with  a 
more  conventional  society.  She  saw  the  rounding 
cheek,  the  youth  reviving  in  the  clear  eyes.  They 
had  stripped  Care  from  "the  child,"  were  shield- 
ing her,  caring  for  her.  For  what  future  ?  Mrs. 
Buckman  shuddered  at  her  fears. 

In  her  new  anxieties  Mrs.  Buckman  lost  sight 
of  any  olive  branch  intention.  She  had  patience 
through  that  night's  supper,  but,  as  soon  as  the 
Colonel  lit  his  pipe  on  the  portico,  she  calmly  told 
him  that  she  had  been  to  see  "that  painted  Jeze- 
bel." 

"That  what?"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  swal- 
lowing smoke  and  choking. 

"  Mrs.  Head  —  that  painted  woman.  I  went 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN  201 

to  see  what  she  was  like.  You  all  are  sending 
Dulcie  straight  to  perdition.  She  is  much  chang- 
ed already.  But  that  woman!  What  do  you  go 
there  for,  Colonel  ?" 

"For  the  same  reason  everybody  else  goes," 
retorted  the  Colonel,  "  and  I  do  like  your  elegant 
sentiments.  What  are  we  all  coming  to  ?  I  told  you 
that  I  was  going  to  stand  by  Dulcie  and  see  her 
free  since  she  wants  to  be  free. " 

"What  then?"  asked  his  wife  coolly.  "What 
comes  after  ?  I  suppose  that  Mrs.  General  will 
take  her  off  to  Richmond  for  men  to  make  game 
of.  Men  never  respect  women  who  are  divorced." 

"  I  hope  to  God  that  Beardsley  will  marry  her," 
spit  out  the  Colonel.  "  That  will  be  the  best  thing. 
I  believe  he  means  to  do  it. " 

"It  is  all  arranged,  I  suppose,"  cried  Mrs. 
Buckman  bitterly;  "off  with  one  husband,  on 
with  another!  That  is  the  modern  life  and  the 
modern  society  I  don't  know  about,  and,  please 
my  Heavenly  Father,  I  don't  want  to  know  about. 
I  can  do  nothing  but  pray  for  Dulcie,  and  for 
you,  Colonel  —  yes,  for  you. " 

Whereupon  she  left  him  to  brood  over  such 
angry  thought  that  he  sat  on  the  portico  until 
midnight  and  then  softly  betook  himself  to  the 
down-stairs  room  to  be  spared  angry  tears  and 
recriminations. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

MOST  LOVE'S  MERE  FOLLY 

IT  can  be  truly  said  of  Dulcie  that  at  this  time 
her  last  state  was  worse  than  any  other.  In 
three  months'  time  she  had  been  swept  from 
every  mooring,  carried  away  by  a  veritable  whirl- 
wind of  Fate  from  all  that  was  connected  with  her 
past.  The  misery  of  her  life  at  Glen  Farm  had 
always  modified  by  a  great  necessity  for  action. 
There  she  was  forced  to  move  about,  to  urge  the 
negroes  ir.  house  and  field,  to  set  her  home  aright 
day  after  day,  to  almost  fight  for  life,  to  be  occu- 
pied. Her  sorrows  had  brought  her  genuine  sym- 
pathy and  given  her  many  friends  whose  words 
and  unspoken  pity  always  nettled  her  but  was  yet 
something  sincere.  Now  she  was  sailing  on  un- 
known seas.  She  slept  in  the  morning  until  she 
chose  to  awake.  John's  wife  or  small  niece  was  at 
hand  to  anticipate  every  want  when  she  did  rise. 
Then  there  was  always  Mrs.  General  Head  to 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN     m  203 

meet  and  encounter.  Mrs.  General's  one  idea  was 
keep  Dulcie's  mind  from  her  troubles,  but  as  yet  to 
she  had  not  found  the  way.  Mrs.  Buckman's  visit 
and  Dulcie's  gladness  at  the  sight  of  her  was  a 
revelation.  She  was  not  actually  fulfilling  her 
mission,  and  with  Mrs.  General  the  discovery  of 
a  troublesome  fact  usually  meant  the  promptest 
action. 

She  ordered  the  trap  after  an  unusually  early 
breakfast  the  very  next  morning  and  set  off  alone 
into  Grafton  under  a  great  white  parasol.  A  re- 
splendent being  she  was  in  lilac  lawn  and  lace 
and  golden  necklaces.  Lucian  was  sitting  on  the 
upper  portico  of  the  hotel.  It  must  be  confessed 
that  he  was  distinctly  bored  at  the  moment  and 
Mrs.  General  saw  and  understood.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments he  was  riding  beside  her  along  the  green 
country  roads  and  was  talking  very  earnestly  to 
her  with  the  parasol  conveniently  held  between 
the  front  seat  and  the  rear. 

An  hour  later  Lucian,  alone,  entered  the  gates 
of  Paradise  and  Mrs.  General,  escorted  by  Beam- 
er  Van  Wye,  rode  away  to  visit  a  small  waterfall 
to  which  she  proposed  to  take  a  picnic  party. 

The  terrace  of  Paradise,  inviting  enough,  was 
wholly  deserted  as  Lucian  mounted  the  steps. 
For  a  second  time  in  his  life  he  had  the  feeling  of 
homesickness  come  over  him.  He  resented  the 
loss  of  Paradise  for  himself,  but  what  better 


204  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

could  he  do  for  Dulcie  than  to  give  her  what  he 
wanted  for  himself?  His  quick  glance  saw  cer- 
tain improvements  which  could  be  done  at  once. 
His  eye  passed  from  the  house  and  terrace  to  the 
lovely  garden.  It  was  Nature's  own  beauty  spot. 
Lucian's  resolution  was  taken  as  suddenly  as 
most  of  his  ideas  materialized.  Paradise  must  be 
his  own,  his  home. 

The  screen  door  fell  to  softly  behind  him.  The 
small  reception-room,  modernized  under  Mrs. 
General's  skilful  hand  was  empty,  also  the  care- 
fully shaded  dining-room.  He  heard  the  chatter 
of  the  two  black  women  on  the  rear  porches. 
Dulcie  must  be  alone  in  the  rooms  above.  He 
hesitated  a  moment,  then  stepped  slowly  and 
softly  up  the  carpeted  stairway  that  wound 
around  and  came  out  in  a  large  upper  hall  now 
furnished  as  a  sitting-room.  Half-way  up,  he 
heard  a  woman's  sob.  Alert,  subtle,  and  with  the 
softest,  stealthiest  expression,  Lucian  Beardsley 
crept  forward.  On  a  chintz-covered  couch  near 
the  open  glass-door  leading  out  to  the  gallery  lay 
Dulcie,  her  heart  breaking  in  loneliness  and  sor- 
row. In  an  abandon  of  grief  she  had  thrown  her- 
self on  the  couch  when  Mrs.  General  first  drove 
away. 

Without  an  instant's  hesitation  Lucian  crept 
forward.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  although  he 
seemed  to  breathe  hard  and  quick.  In  his  soul  he 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN  205 

was  cursing  Fate  that  had  given  a  woman  such  a 
woe.  His  whole  being  was  tossed  in  a  stormy  wave 
of  passion.  Again  he  was  held  in  the  master  grasp 
of  a  savagery  that  claimed  this  woman  and  let 
who  dare  come  to  interfere.  He  knelt  beside  her 
and,  before  she  could  see  who  it  was,  he  gathered 
her  to  him  with  the  low  and  pitiful  cry: 

"My  poor  little  girl!" 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Outside  a  shrill  bird 
sang  and  mocked.  Lucian's  own  eyes  were  wet 
because  of  those  terrible  sobs  that  beat  against  his 
very  heart.  There  was  a  long  silence  and  then 
Dulcie  sat  up  with  a  white  face. 

"O,  what  have  I  done  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

He  was  very  gentle  with  her,  gentle  as  a  mother 
to  her  weary  child. 

"Nothing,  but  I  will  do  it  all." 

Dulcie  shuddered. 

"  I  will  die,  if  something  does  not  end  it.  Every 
way  is  dark.  Lucian,  Lucian!" 

She  had  never  called  him  by  his  name  be- 
fore. 

A  great  vein  stood  out  on  his  forehead. 

"  Dulcie,  answer  me  one  question.  Answer  me 
solemnly,  honestly.  Do  you  wish  to  go  back  ? 
Make  your  decision  now,  once  for  all." 

She  stared  at  him  blankly. 

"You  can  go  back.  I  will  go  away  and  never 
return,  never  annoy  you,  but  I  can  not  bear  your 


ao6  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

suffering.  It  must  all  end  one  way  or  the  other, 
and  at  once.  I  am  but  a  man,  Dulcie,  and  have 
the  full  heart  of  a  man,  but  I  have  had  enough, 
enough.  Do  you  wish  to  return  to  Glen  Farm  ?" 

A  look  of  horror  came  into  her  eyes. 

"I  will  die  first." 

"Then  you  must  send  in  a  divorce  petition  at 
once.  Never  mind  anything  else.  Say  'yes'  or 
'no'  as  you  wish." 

"Can't  I  just  —  stay  away,  or  go  away  ?" 

"No!"  he  thundered,  "he  is  your  husband. 
Think  of  that!  It  maddens  me.  You  belong  to 
him.  How  do  you  suppose  I  feel  when  I  think  of 
it  ?  You  can  play  with  facts  no  longer.  Either  do 
that  or  I  must  go. " 

"  I  would  be  all  alone  then  —  it  would  be 
worse. " 

Her  hair  fell  about  her,  her  dress  was  dis- 
ordered. He  led  her  to  the  door  of  her  room. 

"Come  out  to  me  a  little  later,"  he  said,  his 
voice  shaking.  "I  surprised  you.  Forgive  me. 
Come  out  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  when  you  have 
braided  your  hair." 

But  it  was  much  longer  ere  Dulcie  came  out  to 
him.  There  was  a  trembling  light  in  her  eyes  and 
they  avoided  his  gaze. 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do,  cousin?"  she 
asked  quite  quietly.  "I  will  do  as  you  think  best. 
Remember  how  silly  I  am.  Why  —  why  —  with 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN  207 

a  trembling  in  her  voice,  "  I  am  so  afraid  of  Mrs. 
General  even. " 

He  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to  a  seat. 

"But  not  of  me?" 

"Ah,  no." 

"  Because  —  some  day  —  I  will  tell  you  — 
that  you  must  not  be  afraid  of  me.  I  am  trying 
now  to  think  what  is  best  for  you.  You  will  do  as 
your  friends  wish  ?" 

"O  yes  —  it  seems  that  there  is  no  other  way." 

"Then  you  will  get  that  petition  at  once,  and 
I  want  you  to  go  away  with  Mrs.  General  and  to 
think  of  other  things.  Later  we  will  have  visitors 
-  you  must  look  well.  Mrs.  General  solemnly 
assures  me  that  new  gowns  are  the  best  distrac- 
tions a  woman  can  have.  Please  absorb  yourself 
in  gowns.  I  also  wish  you  could  like  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral. She  will  guard  you  and  I  can  trust  her.  Do 
have  some  spirit  and  hold  up  your  head.  You  are 
innocent  of  any  wrong,  Dulcie. " 

She  flushed  rosy  red  now. 

"Will  you  ever  be  a  woman  ?  One  would  think 
you  a  child  and  you  are  surely  twenty-six  or 
twenty-seven.  There,  do  not  look  so  sorrowful. 
Come  here  to  me." 

She  rose  and  they  walked  to  the  window.  He 
still  held  her  hand. 

"  Do  you  trust  me  ?  Do  you  believe  in  my 
great  desire  to  make  you  happier  ?" 


ao8  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  him  suddenly.  They 
blazed  with  reproach. 

"Who  have  I  but  you  ?  The  dear  old  Colonel 
—  but  he  is  so  hampered.  Aunt  Sudie  "  —  but  her 
voice  broke. 

"Hear  me,  Dulcie.  Only  wait.  Maybe  some 
day  you  will  say  that  your  old  world  is  well  lost. " 

The  trap  with  the  lawyer  and  Mrs.  General 
drove  up  an  hour  later.  Lucian  calmly  handed 
Beamer  Van  Wye  a  paper  as  he  sank  into  a 
chair  and  motioned  John  for  some  liquid  re- 
freshment. The  older  man  read  with  a  placid 
face  but  curious  eyes.  He  then  passed  it  with  a 
courtly  bow  to  Mrs.  General. 

"I  have  ordered  luncheon,"  observed  Lu- 
cian. "  My  cousin  will  be  here  in  a  moment.  And 
I  must  see  Summers  about  those  horses." 

Then  he  hurried  away. 

Mrs.  General  closed  the  white  parasol  and 
smiled  as  she  bent  over  the  bamboo  table  on 
which  the  paper  lay. 

"Well,"  observed  the  lawyer,  "that  was  a 
prompt  piece  of  work,  wasn't  it  ?" 

Mrs.  General  smiled  sweetly. 

"If  you  and  I  were  fifteen  and  twelve,  my  dear 
Mr.  Van  Wye,  we  would  probably  say  that 
things  looked  as  if  two  friends  of  ours  had  kissed 
and  made  up." 

"Humph!"  replied  Beamer  Van  Wye,  "and  I 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN  209 

should  retort  that  there  is  also  truth  in  an  old 
proverb  about  promises  and  pie  crust.  She  vowed 
she  never  would  do  it,  you  know,  and  that  not  so 
very  long  ago.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  see 
nothing  else  for  her,  although,  as  a  matter  of 
principle,  my  dear  Mrs.  General,  I  am  unalter- 
ably opposed  to  divorces." 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

LORD,  WE  KNOW  WHAT  WE  ARE  BUT  NOT  WHAT 
WE  MAY  BE 

MRS.  BUCKMAN  sat  alone  on  the  wide 
portico  at  Broad  Acres.  She  was  pale 
and  her  lips  were  set  more  firmly  than 
ever.  She  was  at  her  lace  work,  one  of  the  pastimes 
she  loved,  but  to-day  she  did  not  make  much  pro- 
gress. Often  the  needle  was  still,  the  pattern  lay 
in  her  lap.  She  looked  down  the  avenue,  waiting 
miserably  on  events,  but  as  unrelenting  toward 
them  as  a  cowled  monk. 

The  Colonel  had  put  on  his  "  court  day  suit  " 
without  explanation  and  gone  to  Middletown 
that  morning.  He  had  not  come  to  her  to  fix  his 
collar  or  tie,  and  this  augured  the  worst.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  had  also  failed  to  ask  her 
for  a  list  of  household  needs,  but  mounted  into  the 
buggy  with  only  a  farewell  wave  of  the  hand. 
Mrs.  Buckman  did  not  doubt  but  the  negroes 
knew  all  about  their  master's  errand.  They  gen- 


210 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 


erally  knew  all  the  county  affairs  and  long  before 
the  dwellers  in  the  large  houses.  She  knew  of  the 
stealthy  figures  that  slipped  from  farm  to  farm 
at  night,  tapping  at  windows,  whispering 
through  half-opened  doors,  lazy  at  everything 
else  but  tireless  at  carrying  bits  of  news  which 
would  make  others  gape  and  cry  out.  Probably 
the  negroes  knew  what  the  Colonel's  errand  was, 
every  one  of  them. 

All  day  she  sat  alone,  eating  her  luncheon  in 
solitary  state,  taking  the  semblance  of  her  after- 
noon nap,  then  making  her  careful  toilet  to  sit 
upon  the  portico  at  three  o'clock.  At  this  hour 
visitors  were  apt  to  come,  carriages  full  of  women 
and  children,  sometimes  young  folks  or  a  depot 
wagon  of  men  driving  up  to  see  the  Colonel's 
horses.  To-day  the  place  seemed  deserted  and 
Mrs.  Buckman  felt  it  strangely. 

After  a  time  a  slow  cart  creaked  up  the  avenue. 
It  contained  'Nondas,  one  of  the  stablemen.  He 
stopped  below  in  spite  of  her  frown. 

"'Clar  to  Gawd,  Mis'  Sudie,"  he  began, 
touch  his  old  hat,  "'clar  to  Gawd  dat  Mis'  Dul- 
cie  done  gone  back  to  Glen  Farm  riding  like 
mad." 

Mrs.  Buckman's  reserve  forsook  her.  She  ac- 
tually ran  down  the  steps  to  him. 

"Where  did  you  see  her,  man  ?" 

"Mekin'  de  turn,  ha'r  flyin',   ridin*  a   black 


212  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

boss.  I  dunno,  but  she  war  gwine  dar  ter  de  farm, 
an*  no  mistake  erbout  dat. " 

Mrs.  Buckman's  soul  was  at  once  uplifted.  A 
pink  colour  rushed  into  her  face.  Her  lips  moved 
and  what  she  said  was: 

"And  though  after  my  skin  worms  destroy 
this  body,  yet  in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God." 

"Scriptur  er  not,  she  went  right  dar,"  declared 
'Nondas;  "I  seen  'er.  But  de  doctah  he  gwine  ter 
town.  Guess  he  knowed  what's  gwine  on.  Funny 
dem  folks  let  Mis'  Dulcie  go  obah  dar  all  alone. 
Been  so  keerful  ob  her  sence  she  war  stoled  erway 
dat  time." 

Mrs.  Buckman  returned  to  her  chair  in  a 
tumult  of  feeling.  She  had  mistaken  the  moral 
strength  in  Dulcie.  It  was  there.  She  had  gone 
back  to  martyrdom.  And  this  woman  who  would 
not  lift  her  hand  to  draw  her  away  still  mur- 
mured fond  prayers  for  her  safety. 

An  hour  passed,  a  warm,  drowsy  hour.  Then, 
between  the  sunshine  and  the  greensward,  riding 
like  a  young  goddess  on  a  thoroughbred  mare, 
came  the  woman  of  Mrs.  Buckman's  thoughts. 
She  wore  her  old  black  riding  gown  and  her  hat, 
and  her  gloves  were  white  at  the  seams.  On  her 
breast  was  a  great  knot  of  freshly-plucked  red 
roses. 

Mrs.  Buckman  met  her  at  the  foot  of  the  steps 
and  gave  a  sharp  call  for  a  boy  to  take  the  horse. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN  213 

Then  she  put  her  arm  around  Dulcie  and  led  her 
up  to  the  chairs. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  came!  You  have  been  at  the 
farm,  haven't  you  ?  Are  you  going  back  ?  The 
doctor  is  away,  I  know. " 

Dulcie's  eyes  were  wide  open  with  a  great 
amazement  and  distress  at  once. 

"Aunt  Sudie,  Aunt  Sudie!"  she  cried,  "you 
surely  cannot  ask  me  to  go  back  there  after  all 
you  know.  Or  maybe  you  knew  all  that  before. 
You  can't  ask  me  to  go  back  now." 

The  passion  of  horror  in  her  voice  thrilled  her 
hearer. 

"  I  thought — I  thought — "  she  stammered,  con- 
fused and  angry  at  herself  for  her  mistaken  ideas. 

"Thought  I  had  gone  back?"  cried  Dulcie. 
"No,  no,  never!  I  will  go  to  the  creek  and  drown 
myself  first.  No,  I  came  to  say  good-bye  to  you, 
Aunt  Sudie.  Indeed,  I  ran  away  to  say  good-bye 
to  Glen  Farm  and  you. " 

The  older  woman  pressed  her  arm  in  anguish. 

"To  say  good-bye  ?"  she  echoed  miserably; 
"to  say  good-bye  ?" 

Dulcie  drew  herself  up  with  an  effort. 

"I  ran  away  when  Mrs.  General  had  visitors 
from  Lexington.  I  could  not  talk  to  them  to-day. 
I  took  the  new  horse  and  came  out  here. " 

She  breathed  heavily  for  a  moment. 

"I  wanted  to  see  the  graves,  my  father's  and 


2i4  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

the  babies'.  They  are  all  weed-grown  now.  I 
plucked  these  roses  there.  They  are  like  blood, 
so  red  this  year.  I  said  good-bye  to  those  graves, 
but  some  day  I  will  come  back  to  them. " 

Mrs.  Buckman  nodded  her  head. 

"I  went  to  tell  my  father  and  tell  them  that  I 
could  have  died  there  but  that  I  could  not  live 
that  way.  They  know  now  and  they  will  not 
blame  me.  I  am  only  human." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"I  do  not  know  —  just  yet.  They  are  all  very 
kind  and  do  my  thinking  for  me.  There  is  no 
care,  no  worry,  but  it  is  strange  —  yet. " 

"Do  you  like  it?"  whispered  Mrs.  Buckman, 
"do  you  really  like  it  ?" 

The  woman  she  consulted  looked  from  side  to 
side  helplessly. 

"I  am  homesick  all  the  time,"  she  replied  in  a 
low  tone,  "homesick  and  heart-sick.  Yet  I  could 
not  go  back.  Something  has  changed,  and  to 
come  back  —  that  could  never  be. " 

Mrs.  Buckman  drew  Dulcie  by  her  sleeve  to  a 
seat. 

"Dulcie,  let  us  guide  you  and  guard  you.  The 
Colonel  will  take  you  away  and  our  good  Bishop 
will  find  a  place  for  you  to  stay  until  all  these 
feelings  have  passed.  Then,  after  a  time,  you  will 
have  more  strength  to  do  your  duty  here  among 
your  friends." 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN  215 

Dulcie  looked  up  at  her  for  a  long  time.  Then 
she  said,  in  a  strange  and  scoffing  voice: 

"  I  believe  you  really  think  that  I  ought  to  go 
back  to  Dr.  DeWitt  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
You've  sent  me  back  so  many  times." 

Mrs.  Buckman  paled. 

"  I  cannot  see  your  duty  any  other  way,  Dul- 
cie." 

"Duty  to  others  is  not  everything.  Do  I  not 
have  a  duty  to  myself,  Aunt  Sudie  ?  Am  I  to  have 
no  respect  for  myself?  Am  I  to  overlook  the 
wrongs  to  others,  to  innocent  and  ignorant  chil- 
dren who  might  be  born  if  I  do  my  duty  ?  No, 
you  are  wrong,  you  are  wrong!  God  gave  me  a 
body  and  a  soul.  If  marriage  made  the  doctor  and 
me  one,  Sin  has  divorced  us,  and  Sin  not  of  my 
seeking.  I  will  take  my  soul  and  go  on  alone." 

Mrs.  Buckman  clasped  Dulcie  in  her  arms. 

"I  am  afraid,"  she  murmured,  "afraid  for 
you." 

"Afraid  of  what  ?  Afraid  I  have  forgotten  all  I 
feel,  think  and  know  ?  Afraid  I  will  forget  that  I 
am  my  father's  daughter  ?  Afraid  that  I  will  do 
wrong  for  position  or  money  or  ease  ?  How  little 
you  know  me,  Aunt  Sudie,  how  little  you  trust 
me!" 

"Then  why  turn  away  from  your  old  friends 
for  these  new  and  strange  ones  ?" 

"I  think  the  others  turned  from  me  in  most 


ai6  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

cases,"  said  Dulcie,  "and  these  new  ones  from 
the  outer  world  are  not  afraid  to  take  the  trouble 
to  protect  me.  To  the  rest  of  you  I  am  and  have 
been  a  continued  scandal  and  worry  in  the 
neighbourhood.  It  could  only  end  in  worse  scan- 
dal and  worry.  Any  way  I  look  at  it,  life  is  dark 
and  wrong.  I  try  to  choose  the  least  wrongs  now 
that  I  understand.  Aunt  Sudie,  I  grope  like  a 
child." 

Her  hearer's  eyes  were  wet. 

"The  door  will  open.  When  the  Lord  shuts  one 
door,  he  opens  another. " 

"Then  why,"  cried  Dulcie,  "why  does  he 
make  the  Christian  people  so  hard  on  me  and  the 
others  so  kind  ?" 

Mrs.  Buckman  stared. 

"Dulcie,  Dulcie,  don't  you  see?  Don't  you 
know  ?  Has  your  trouble  taken  your  wits  ?  You 
are  a  woman  long  grown,  with  much  experience 
and  trouble.  Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Beardsley  is 
doing  all  this  out  of  mere  kindness  and  from  a 
mere  desire  to  aid  a  very  distant  relative  ?" 

Dulcie  sat  erect,  slim  and  lovely.  Little  translu- 
cent lights  played  about  the  roots  of  her  hair.  In 
her  large  eyes  was  an  expression  like  the  light  on 
a  sword  blade.  Her  lips  were  a  scornful  scarlet 
bow. 

"  Perhaps  —  you've  always  been  good  to  me  in 
a  way  —  perhaps,  Aunt  Sudie,  you  will  explain." 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN  217 

But  Mrs.  Buckman  shrank  away  and  parried 
the  question. 

"  Is  it  reasonable  to  suppose  that  a  man  of  the 
world  like  him  will  take  so  much  trouble  for  mere 
kindness  ?" 

"Don't  you  question  me!"  cried  the  young 
woman  in  a  fury  of  anger,  "but  tell  me  right  out 
now.  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  believe,"  retorted  Mrs.  Buckman,  "that 
he's  been  in  love  with  you  —  in  his  way  —  since 
the  day  he  struck  the  doctor  for  you." 

Dulcie  sat  perfectly  still  for  a  moment,  then 
she  rallied  and  faced  Mrs.  Buckman. 

"And  I,"  she  said  coldly,  "I  believe  his  great 
heart  spoke  and  told  him  how  much  I  suffered 
and  how  alone  and  helpless  I  really  was.  I  be- 
lieve God  raised  him  up  for  my  cause.  I  believe 
there  is  a  God  for  those  who  suffer  long  and  pa- 
tiently. I  believe  Lucian  is  true  in  his  endeavours 
to  make  me  happier,  and  that  all  he  has  said  or 
done  is  in  great  kindness." 

"Then  you've  gone  blind,"  retorted  the  older 
woman.  "We  all  see  it  plainly." 

Dulcie  rose  and  gathered  up  her  skirt. 

"You  do  me  a  very  great  honor  then.  Think  of 
the  women  he  has  seen  and  will  see.  Only  yes- 
terday he  had  all  the  Woodruffs  and  the  Wrights 
and  the  Harters  out  on  a  picnic  jaunt.  You  know 
Sally  Harter,  how  pretty  she  is.  He  said  last  night 


218  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

that  she  was  the  handsomest  girl  he  had  ever 
seen.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed,  Aunt  Sudie.  I 
am  old  and  worn  and  sorrowful  and  sad.  A  man 
doesn't  feel  anything  like  love  for  such  a  pitiful 
sort  of  creature.  He  is  only  sorry,  only  sorry. " 

Then  suddenly  she  wheeled  around. 

"But  I  came  to  say  good-bye.  I  know  you  are 
against  it  all.  I  came  to  say  good-bye  to  my  child- 
hood, my  wifehood,  my  children's  graves  and  you 
all.  It  is  all  over,  Aunt  Sudie,  stone  dead,  and  we 
are  going  to  bury  it  as  decently  as  we  can.  I 
might  as  well  tell  that  this  morning  Mr.  Beard- 
sley,  the  Colonel  and  Mr.  Van  Wye  went  to  Mid- 
dletown  with  my  petition  for  a  divorce.  So  good- 
bye, Aunt  Sudie,  for  I  never  will  come  to  Broad 
Acres  again  unless  you  send  for  me.  I  just  wanted 
to  say  good-bye  to  you  —  with  all  the  other  things 
of  the  old  life." 

Half-way  down  the  avenue  a  galloping  figure 
met  her,  drew  rein  and  rode  out  slowly  beside  her. 
And,  although  Mrs.  Buckman  could  not  see  very 
clearly  for  the  blinding  tears  in  her  eyes,  she  felt 
quite  sure  that  it  was  a  tall  and  gallant  figure 
with  eager  eyes  and  a  mien  that  invited  no  inter- 
ference. 

That  night  Mrs.  General  insisted  that  Para- 
dise must  be  illuminated.  The  lamps  were  all  lit, 
Beamer  Van  Wye  and  the  Colonel's  horses  were 
stabled  until  a  late  hour,  the  terrace  resounded 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN  219 

with  gay  voices  and  laughter.  Dulcie  herself 
yielded  to  Lucian's  persuasions  to  wear  some- 
thing besides  a  black  gown.  She  had  only  an  old, 
washed-out  white  one,  but  she  wore  the  red  roses 
on  her  breast.  There  was  not  a  word  said  as  to 
the  events  of  the  day,  but  Mrs.  General's  infect- 
ious spirits  and  unflagging  entertainment  made  it 
almost  a  festival. 

Lucian,  handsome  as  a  prince  in  his  dinner 
dress,  kept  her  company  in  her  wit  and  repartee. 
He  could  have  screamed  at  any  time  with  a 
species  of  hysterical  laughter.  Since  he  had  set 
out  after  Dulcie  that  afternoon  he  had  been  up- 
set. The  only  fear  of  his  life  had  then  clutched  at 
his  heart.  Had  she  gone  back  to  Glen  Farm  and 
to  that  man  ?  Dulcie  had  not  known,  but  to  Mrs. 
General  he  said,  when  she  left  them  on  the  ter- 
race: 

"  I  thought  she  had  gone  back.  I  am  completely 
unnerved. " 

Mrs.  General  merely  replied: 

"We  must  get  her  away  in  the  morning.  But 
your  Kentucky  women  can  keep  one's  hands  full. 
I  am  amazed  at  her  real  daring  and  spirit. " 

"I  am  always  amazed  at  her  danger,"  said 
Lucian.  "She  never  seemed  to  remember  that 
Dr.  DeWitt  might  have  returned  while  she  was 
there.  I  really  feel  that  Providence  took  care  of 
her." 


210  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

Mrs.  General  Head  laughed  softly. 

"Lucian,  I  never  knew  you  serious  before," 
she  said,  "  and  when  do  you  think  the  letter  will 
come  from  your  brother  Fordyce  ?  I  do  really 
need  reinforcements." 

About  eleven  o'clock  Lucian  drew  Dulcie  out 
into  the  garden. 

"It  is  moonlight,"  he  said,  "it  is  lovely  moon- 
light, and  there  are  lovelier  roses.  I  want  to  say 
something  to  you  before  you  go  away. " 

She  flitted  before  him,  singularly  elusive  and 
aloof. 

"Do  not  let  us  go  very  far,"  she  soon  said, 
"for  you  know  I  like  to  hear  voices.  Let  us  stop 
here." 

This  was  a  new  mood. 

"You  will  hear  voices  enough  to-morrow.  Now 
promise  me  to  do  all  I  ask  of  you. " 

"Hardly  that,"  she  replied  after  a  little  wait, 
"for  we  see  life  from  such  different  standpoints, 
cousin.  But  I  will  try  to  please  you  of  course. " 

"First,  let  Mrs.  General  provide  you  with  a 
suitable  wardrobe.  You  must  make  a  different 
appearance.  Next,  will  you  write  me  a  letter 
every  other  day  ?  I  shall  be  very  lonely.  I  want 
you  to  stay  away  a  month  or  two  as  we  are  to 
make  some  changes  here.  I  have  bought  Para- 
dise." 

Her  face  flushed. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN  221 

"Next,  enjoy  yourself.  I  believe  that  Mrs. 
General  has  a  plan  of  campaign  to  one  or  two 
of  the  Northern  lake  resorts.  No  one  will  know 
you,  so  cast  off  all  care.  Let  the  past  go,  and  look 
forward.  You  will  need  all  the  strength  you  can 
muster  when  you  return.  It  is  hard  to  tell  what 
Dr.  DeWitt  will  do  with  the  aid  of  those  scoun- 
drels at  Middletown. 

Dulcie  moved  uneasily  and  then  raised  her 
eyes.  He  read  a  mute  protest. 

"What  is  it,  Dulcie?" 

"  I  do  not  want  to  go  unless  you  think  it  best. 
I  am  always  afraid  of  Mrs.  General.  She  is  kind, 
too  kind.  But  I  will  go." 

"  It  is  much  the  best, "  said  Lucian  very  grave- 
ly. "  You  will  understand  later  on,  and  know  Mrs. 
General  better  by  the  time  you  return.  Please 
trust  her  and  do  obey  her.  Do  not  go  off  on  any 
more  impulsive  jaunts  like  that  one  this  after- 
noon. All  will  be  right  in  the  end." 

Dulcie  moved  restlessly  toward  the  house. 

"You  seem  anxious  to  get  in.  We  will  return. 
Will  you  not  say  good-bye  to  me  ?  Come  here. " 

But  this  time  she  remained  motionless. 

"Come,  little  cousin." 

At  once  Dulcie  began  to  walk  toward  the 
house. 

"  Really,  I  must  go  in. " 

He  caught  up  with  her. 


222  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"Without  any  word  for  me?  I  never  fancied 
you  were  cruel.  Haven't  you  a  word  for  me  ?" 

Her  hands  shook  as  she  fingered  the  red  roses. 

"Dulcie!" 

But  she  turned  resolutely  and  flung  the  words 
back  at  him. 

"  I  am  not  free  —  let  me  take  my  soul  and  go." 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

IN  THE  DARK  BACKGROUND  AND  ABYSM  OF  TIME 

BACK  and  forth  as  the  dust  flew  on  the 
white  roads,  as  the  corn  grew  tall  and 
the  summer  waned,  went  the  whirlwind 
of  gossip  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other. 
Never  had  there  been  a  more  fruitful  theme  than 
the  DeWitt  trouble,  and  every  day  there  seemed 
a  new  phase  or  development.  It  was  now  the 
repairs  and  changes  at  Paradise  and  the  absence 
of  Mrs.  General  Head  and  Dulcie,  again  some 
one  in  Middleport  had  seen  some  one  else  who 
knew  of  their  stay  in  Chicago  and  at  the  Wis- 
consin lake  resorts.  Dulcie's  wardrobe  and  beauty 
were  sensationally  enlarged  upon  and  the  news 
flew  about  how  Mrs.  General  was  bringing  her 
forward  in  every  society.  All  Grafton  was  inter- 
ested in  the  magic  of  Lucian  Beardsley's  money. 
It  was  wild  excitement  to  the  people  to  watch  the 
workmen  from  Cincinnati  and  Lexington  and 
223 


224  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

Louisville,  to  see  boxes  and  packages  and  barrels 
arrive  by  every  train,  to  wonder  at  the  cost  of 
things  and  to  admire  or  envy  the  owner.  Lucian 
was  busy,  happily  busy,  and,  in  his  improve- 
ments, he  enjoyed  the  advice,  suggestions  and 
full  approval  of  Colonel  Buckman  and  the 
lawyer,  Beamer  Van  Wye. 

In  these  changes  the  real  romance  of  Beamer 
Van  Wye's  life  was  somewhat  disclosed.  The 
former  owner  of  Paradise  had  been  the  impov- 
erished father  of  Jessie  Le  Due,  once  his  be- 
trothed. His  continued  poverty  and  his  defeat 
for  the  state  legislature  in  bygone  days  induced 
the  father  to  carry  the  girl  abroad.  Beamer  was 
helpless  because  of  the  increasing  infirmities  of 
an  aged  father,  and  when  he  was  at  last  free 
Jessie  Le  Due  had  wedded  a  petty  Italian  noble, 
although  to  the  last  she  had  declared  her  love 
and  preference  for  her  American  lover.  In  Para- 
dise the  dearest  days  of  the  lawyer's  youth  had 
been  spent,  his  fondest  hopes  born;  and  there  also 
had  been  the  terrible  tragedy  of  the  parting. 
After  hearing  this  story,  Lucian  ceased  to  invite 
the  lawyer  to  view  each  little  improvement  and 
modification.  He  came,  however,  of  his  own  ac- 
cord, and  begged  his  friend  and  benefactor  not 
to  mind  him,  for  he  knew  now  that  it  was  all  for 
the  best,  but  the  gardens  were  little  disturbed 
and  more  on  his  account  than  on  any  other. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN  225 

By  the  first  of  September  Lucian  Beardsley 
viewed  with  satisfaction  a  new  Paradise.  A  cor- 
nice added  much  to  the  front  of  the  house,  and 
the  terrace  had  a  light  balustrade  and  corner 
posts  to  which  the  awnings  were  hooked.  To  the 
left  of  the  main  building  was  a  wire-screened 
summer  dining-room  overhanging  the  slope  into 
the  rose  garden.  To  the  right  and  the  rear  had 
been  thrown  out  a  long  wing  and  a  pillared 
piazza.  The  house  was  dazzling  in  a  new  coat 
of  white  paint,  and  there  were  green  shutters  at 
every  window.  The  terrace  was  beautiful  with 
potted  plants  such  as  Grafton  had  never  seen,  and 
on  the  steps,  when  the  sun  went  down,  were 
spread  prayer  rugs  from  Eastern  looms. 

The  interior  of  the  house  was  thrown  into  a 
suite  of  fine  rooms,  but  the  long  wing  was  sepa- 
rated by  sliding  doors  from  the  main  building, 
and  in  this  wing  Lucian  took  up  his  abode  as 
soon  as  possible,  giving  his  entire  time  to 
the  improvements.  On  the  upper  floor  of  this 
wing  and  of  the  old  portion  were  arranged  a  half- 
dozen  bed-rooms  and  bath-rooms  for  which  an 
engine  continually  lifted  water  into  a  high  tank. 
Three  cottages  had  been  constructed  for  the  serv- 
ants early  in  the  summer. 

On  the  fifteenth  day  of  September,  save  for  a 
few  minor  details,  Paradise  stood  ready  for  its 
occupants.  The  Colonel  and  the  lawyer  dined 


Z16  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

with  Lucian  in  the  evening.  They  came  in  while 
he  was  full  of  exhilaration  and  anxious  to  escort 
them  over  the  whole  place  for  perhaps  the  twen- 
tieth time.  He  was  so  full  of  the  improvements 
that  he  did  not  notice  their  gravity.  They  dined 
in  the  outdoor  room  on  the  best  that  their  host 
could  offer,  and  later  they  sat  upon  the  terrace 
with  good  cigars  and  wine  beside  them. 

Suddenly  he  caught  a  piteous  entreaty  in  the 
old  Colonel's  eyes  and  an  expression  that  smote 
him  like  a  weapon. 

"What  is  it,  Colonel?"  he  asked  quietly. 

The  Colonel  flushed  and  stammered,  coughed 
and  looked  helplessly  at  the  lawyer. 

"Out  with  it,"  repeated  Lucian.  "I  noticed 
that  you  were  silent  at  the  dinner  table.  Out  with 
it!" 

Beamer  Van  Wye  cleared  his  throat. 

"DeWitt,"  was  all  he  said. 

Lucian  lit  a  cigar. 

"  He  is  going  to  file  a  cross  petition. " 

"Well?" 

"And  is  not  content  with  gross  neglect  of  duty 
as  a  cause." 

"Mrs.  DeWitt  was  too  lenient  in  hers."  he 
continued  slowly. 

Lucian  set  his  teeth. 

"Well,  what  has  he  done?  We  can  amend 
our  petition  if  need  be. " 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN  217 

"The  mischiefs  done,"  breathed  the  Colonel 
hoarsely;  "  it's  done  —  and  well  done. " 

Lucian  felt  as  if  cold  steel  had  been  driven  into 
his  very  vitals. 

"Well,  tell  it." 

"  He  is  going  to  apply  for  a  divorce  himself. " 

"And?" 

"  Has  named  you  —  as  the  cause. " 

Lucian  jumped  up  and  smote  the  table  madly. 

"Beamer!  Colonel!  the  poor  girl,  the  poor 
girl!  Whose  work  is  this  ?" 

Beamer  Van  Wye  laughed  bitterly. 

"It  is  that  scoundrel  Graham,  Anson  Gra- 
ham. It  is  because  you  have  money.  You  might 
have  foreseen  it." 

"He  must  have  his  price.  What  can  we  do  ?" 

"  Stop  it  or  fight  it  out. " 

"How  can  it  be  stopped  ?" 

Beamer  Van  Wye  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  As  I  tell  you,  he  has  his  price.  That  is  just  why 
he  let  me  know  to-day.  He  will  go  to  Middle- 
town  with  his  petition  to-morrow  unless  he  hears 
from  me." 

"The  petition  will  not  go  to  Middletown," 
said  Lucian  tersely. 

The  lawyer  drummed  on  the  table. 

"It  is  a  mere  question  of  money, "  broke  in  the 
Colonel  still  more  huskily,  "but,  Beardsley,  for 
God's  sake  do  pay  it,  do  pay  it.  I  cannot  —  just 


ii8  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

now  —  and  she  cannot.  She  will  be  about  penni- 
less anyhow.  I  believe  you  are  a  man.  On  my 
knees  —  yes,"  he  sobbed,  "on  my  knees  I  ask 
you  to  pay  it.  I  think  of  her  father  —  of  my 
wife  —  of  all  of  us  —  only  pay  for  it. " 

Lucian  listened,  with  the  lawyer's  eyes  on  his 
drawn  face.  Presently  he  rang  the  bell  on  the  table. 

"The  drag,  John,"  he  said,  "and  the  best 
team,  the  rugs  and  other  heavy  covers  for  a  long 
ride.  How  far  is  it  to  this  man's  house,  gentle- 
men?" 

"Nine  miles,"  replied  the  lawyer;  "he  is  be- 
tween Grafton  and  Middletown." 

"Nine  or  ninety,  we  will  see  him.  Excuse  me 
until  I  get  my  check-book.  Or  perhaps  it  better 
be  cash.  What  say  you  ?" 

"All  will  be  one  to  Graham,"  said  the  lawyer, 
"but  shall  we  not  plan  out  something  first  ?" 

Lucian  Beardsley  struck  the  table  again  with 
his  fist. 

"Plan!"  he  cried,  "there  is  no  plan  needed. 
Either  he  sets  his  price,  takes  the  money  and 
tears  up  Dr.  DeWitt's  petition,  or  —  or  — "  and 
he  shook  his  head  wildly. 

"DeWitt  may  come  in  again." 

"DeWitt!"  broke  in  the  Colonel  derisively. 
"He  has  probably  forgotten  he  was  ever  advised 
by  Graham  to  fight.  He  has  no  memory  left.  He  is 
only  a  poor  tool. " 


CHAPTER   SEVENTEEN  219 

"It  looks  mighty  cowardly,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"It  looks—" 

"Hush!"  said  Lucian  Beardsley.  "Look  at 
this." 

He  took  a  cablegram  from  his  pocket  and 
threw  it  onto  the  table.  It  was  in  cipher,  but  the 
translation  was  written  out  below. 

Beamer  Van  Wye  opened  it  and  read  aloud : 

"We  will  reach  New  York  on  the  twenty- 
second  and  immediately  start  for  Kentucky, 
Evelyn  and  myself,  man,  maid,  baby  and  his 
nurse.  Fordyce  Beardsley." 

"Which  means,"  commented  the  Virginian, 
"that,  on  receipt  of  late  letters,  my  good  brother 
comes  over  at  once  to  our  kinswoman's  rescue 
and  he  brings  his  wife.  It  means  that  Dulcie 
will  have  more  supporters  and  that,  the  battle 
over,  she  can  return  to  England  with  them  if  she 
will  go." 

"And  then?"  queried  the  Colonel  anxiously. 

"I  shall  go  over.  The  future  lies  in  Dulcie's 
hands.    But   you   can   see    why  —  a    thousand 
whys — this  matter  must  go  our  way.   Else  - 
else  it  is  to  ruin  everything  and  everybody. " 

They  rode  fast  through  the  night,  these  three 
men,  as  they  had  once  gone  before,  rode  to  gloss 
over  a  wrong  done  by  another  and  that  a  woman 
might  not  know  and  suffer  greater  wrong.  The 
one  was  a  stout  and  red-faced  horseman  of  no 


230  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

particular  presence  and  a  great  deal  of  obstinate 
goodness.  Another  was  a  man  whose  heart  and 
ambition  was  dead  because  of  the  one  woman  he 
had  loved  and  lost;  the  youngest  was  a  man  only 
now  awaking  to  life's  sternest  aspect,  and  as 
determined  as  death.  As  in  olden  times  knights 
went  forth  to  rescue,  so  went  these  three  moderns, 
no  less  pure  of  purpose.  Far  away  Dulcie  calmly 
slept.  In  the  light  amusement  of  her  days  the 
past  seemed  only  a  dreadful  dream.  Mrs.  Gener- 
al had  been  wise.  The  young  woman's  repressed 
youth  conquered.  Change  of  scene,  and  new, 
cheerful  faces  had  relieved  Dulcie's  mind  from 
its  strain.  Once  more  she  smiled  and  almost  for- 
got her  sorrows. 

Sometimes,  in  his  after  Kfe,  Beamer  Van  Wye 
looked  back  upon  the  events  of  that  night.  He  re- 
membered the  long  ride,  the  loud  baying  of  the 
hounds  in  Graham's  house-lot,  the  spirited  call 
for  him,  and  even  the  spurt  of  a  match  as  a  lamp 
was  lit  in  the  room  above  the  front  porch.  He  re- 
membered an  anxious  wait  while  Anson  Graham 
rose,  dressed  and  came  out  to  them.  The  men 
were  out  of  the  drag  and  John  drove  down  to  the 
gate  out  of  hearing. 

"  I  am  here  in  reply  to  your  letter, "  said  Van 
Wye  coldly. 

"I  ruther  expected  you  all,"  returned  the 
drawling  voice  of  Graham,  "not  so  late  though." 


CHAPTER   SEVENTEEN  231 

"We  did  not  care  to  be  seen  coming  any  ear- 
lier," broke  in  Lucian  haughtily.  "Now  proceed 
to  business.  I  will  not  haggle  with  you.  What's 
your  price  or  DeWitt's  price  or  both  ?" 

"  Come  now,  Mr.  Beardsley. " 

"I'm  not  here  to  talk.  Name  the  figure.  That 
petition  must  not  go  in.  I  don't  mind  saying  I'll 
kill  both  of  you  before  it  shall  go  in.  Name  your 
figure.  If  I  don't  like  it  and  won't  pay  it,  I'll  say 
so  and  you  can  look  out  for  yourself. " 

Graham  shivered  between  his  fear  and  his 
avarice. 

"You're  powerful  quick.  We  all  have  got  a 
mighty  good  case  though,  Mr.  Beardsley,  so  you 
all  must  expect  a  good  figure.  DeWitt  will  go 
elsewhere  with  it  unless  I  stop  him,  you  see.  He 
must  be  quieted  down  and  made  to  feel  real  good 
or  he'll  not  be  satisfied.  We  will  take  a  couple  of 
thousand,  Mr.  Beardsley,  and  that  hoss  he's  been 
wanting,  the  one  you  all  bought,  Kentucky 
Cupid,  ain't  it  ?" 

Lucian  laughed  scornfully. 

"You'll  never  get  the  horse,  Graham,  for  he  is 
out  of  my  hands  now  and  goes  to  England.  Try 
again." 

"Well,  if  we  don't  get  the  horse  it's  moah  like  a 
cool  five  thousand  we  want.  DeWitt  wants  the 
horse. " 

Lucian  repeated  his  dreadful  laugh. 


ZJ2  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"  How  are  you  going  to  account  for  him  or  you 
having  so  much  of  my  money  ?  You've  got  a  rep- 
utation for  rascality  now.  Well,  have  you  got  that 
petition  here  ?  Get  it  out  and  let's  close  the  bar- 
gain. No,  I  will  not  darken  your  door.  Bring  out 
a  lamp  and  some  paper.  I  have  a  fountain  pen. 
We  want  a  paper  from  you,  duly  signed  and  wit- 
nessed though,  that  DeWitt  withdraws  this  pe- 
tition because  he  got  his  share  of  five  thousand 
dollars." 

"What  are  you  all  going  to  do  with  that  leetle 
paper?"  said  Graham  uneasily. 

"You'll  see  it  if  DeWitt  ever  comes  up  again 
in  this  matter,  Graham,"  broke  in  Van  Wye. 
"You  are  paid,  like  any  other  servant,  to  keep 
DeWitt  from  doing  anything  more.  Mrs.  DeWitt 
is  to  have  her  divorce  and  no  defence  is  to  be 
made.  See  ?  In  short,  you  are  now  retained  on  our 
side  and  a  nice  slice  of  luck  it  is  for  you.  It  will 
pay  off  your  mortgage,  won't  it?" 

Graham  growled  ominously. 

"Is  it  a  bargain  or  not  ?"  continued  Van  Wye. 
"We  are  not  at  all  afraid,  Graham,  but  we  wish 
to  spare  the  name  of  a  poor  woman  whose  suffer- 
ing ought  to  appeal  to  the  sympathy  of  every 
man.  Her  kinsfolk  are  willing  to  pay  you  for 
peace,  that  is  all.  Hurry  up  now!" 

The  paper  was  finally  signed  and  the  ride  back 
was  one  of  silence.  Above  them  proceeded  the 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN  233 

great  panorama  of  the  morning  planets  and  stars, 
about  them  lay  silent  and  shadowy  farms  and 
houses,  woodland  and  hillslope.  The  Colonel 
dozed,  his  head  on  his  chest,  the  lawyer  was 
silent,  and  Lucian  Beardsley  respected  their 
wishes.  As  he  left  the  Grafton  lawyer  and  the 
Colonel  at  his  gate,  the  former  put  out  a  slim 
hand  and  shook  his  own. 

"  Beardsley  to  the  rescue!  Money  and  the  mod- 
ern knight.  You  have  certainly  done  much  for 
the  heroine,  and  may  you  all  live  happy  ever 
after!" 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

HERE  IS  MY  JOURNEY'S  END 

ALL  Grafton  woke  in  a  quiver  of  excite- 
ment one  November  day.  Was  not  this 
the  time  set  for  the  hearing  of  the 
DeWitt  divorce  case  ?  Was  not  every  one  who 
could  raise  what  Linas  facetiously  called  "the 
price,"  going  down  on  the  morning  train  to 
Middletown  to  see  what  could  be  seen  and  to 
hear  what  could  be  heard  ?  Had  not  Henry 
Swayne  kept  excitement  at  fever  heat  by  inti- 
mating that  "he  and  cousin  Doc"  might  yet 
spring  a  sensation  that  would  "raise  hair"  ?  Had 
not  Dr.  DeWitt  himself,  money-flushed  and 
prowling  wildly  over  the  country  by  night,  de- 
clared in  divers  and  sundry  places  that  he  did  not 
want  the  "little  red-headed  vixen"  if  she  wanted 
to  be  free,  then,  fickle-minded,  declaring  the 
next  time  that  he  could  knock  the  whole  thing 
"  into  a  cocked  hat  if  he  cared  to  tell  some  things 
234 


CHAPTER   EIGHTEEN  235 

he  knew. "  It  is  to  be  added  that,  at  this  juncture, 
Linas  usually  told  the  doctor  to  "hesh  right  up  er 
git  outen  the  bar-room"  and  that  the  doctor  al- 
ways subsided.  In  some  way,  equally  mysterious, 
it  came  to  be  understood  that  the  doctor  had  been 
pacified  with  money  —  really  "sold  out";  that 
he  had  also  compromised  on  the  Glen  Farm 
matter  and  was  going  to  Mexico  or  California  or 
to  Arizona  or  some  far-off  place  to  "set  up  again 
and  make  some  money"  with  one  of  his  Middle- 
port  cronies.  Once  or  twice  he  rode  furiously 
about  Paradise  at  night  and  rumour  soon  credited 
the  place  with  a  night  watchman,  as  it  did  with 
all  things  possible  that  money  could  buy.  Para- 
dise looked  gay  enough  these  days  with  the 
"swells"  that  came  from  England  as  well  as 
from  the  East.  There  were  English  servants  and 
innovations  that  made  life  at  Grafton  "one  long 
tattling  dream"  according  to  Beamer  Van  Wye. 
The  lawyer  had  somehow  acquired  several  new 
coats  and  a  hat  that  passed  muster.  He  was  the 
devoted  intimate  of  Lucian  Beardsley  and 
amused  Mrs.  General  Head  beyond  any  possi- 
bility of  ennui.  Mrs.  General  had  returned,  tri- 
umphant, to  welcome  the  English  Beardsleys. 
She  brought  back  a  new  Dulcie,  at  least  one 
transformed  in  appearance.  She  had  a  figure,  be- 
coming clothing,  and  better  health.  Some  timidity 
still  remained  as  the  result  of  her  last  and  most 


ZJ6  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

dreadful  experience,  but  Mrs.  General  thought 
it  not  unbecoming  and  it  certainly  aided  the 
youthfulness  of  her  appearance. 

On  this  autumn  morning,  when  the  brown 
fields  were  disclosing  their  bareness  with  the 
lifting  of  subtle  mists,  there  dashed  up  to  the 
ugly  yellow  railway  station  at  Grafton  a  party 
whose  coming  was  expected  by  a  hundred  open- 
eyed  people.  Two  carriages  there  were,  a  goodly 
show  among  a  half-dozen  other  substantial 
vehicles  from  outlying  country  places.  From 
the  high  drag  first  descended  the  splendid  Mrs. 
General  Head,  appropriately  attired  in  subdued 
and  elegant  black,  with  a  picture  hat  and  a  full 
boa  of  ostrich  feathers  that  took  ten  years  from 
her  age. .  Next  came  down  Lady  Emily,  that 
plain  blonde  noblewoman  of  old  England,  who 
had  more  of  a  maternal  air  toward  the  whole 
party  than  Mrs.  General;  and  thirdly,  the 
heroine  of  the  occasion,  a  slim,  tailor-made 
creature  whose  new  appearance  made  her  towns- 
people stare  and  wince.  Was  this  "  Mis'  DeWitt, 
that  poor  leetle  creetur"  they  had  always  known  ? 
O  surely  not,  for  this  woman  seemed  young 
and  fair,  and  how  her  hair  shone  and  her  eyes 
asked  for  kindness!  Men  swore  a  little  and  won- 
dered why  they  had  not  done  something  for  her 
long'  ago. 

"Lord,  but  I've  always  loved  her  like  thun- 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN  237 

der!"  declared  the  Colonel  that  day;  "her  eyes 
always  begged  me  for  something." 

"They  beg  others,"  suggested  the  Lexington 
lawyer,  "  and  I  calculate  they  ask  the  same  thing 
of  Beardsley.  When  it's  over,  when  it's  safely 
over,  Van  Wye,  what  is  she  going  to  do  ?." 

"  Mrs.  General  talks  of  New  York  and  New- 
port and  such  places,  and  adds  that,  at  least  for 
a  while,  she  must  see  society." 

"  On  his  money  ?  O  no,  we  can't  let  that  go  on, 
you  and  I  just  can't.  We'll  talk  to  her,  Beamer." 

"The  fleshpots  of  Egypt  do  agree  with  her," 
observed  the  lawyer,  watching  blue  smoke  rings 
thoughtfully. 

"She  has  got  her  feet  in  snares,  my  wife  says, 
and  she's  'most  always  right.  I  do  hate  to  treat 
Beardsley  badly.  He  will  offer  to  marry  her  at 
once  I  suppose." 

"No,  he  shall  not." 

The  lawyer  leaned  over  and  whispered.  The 
Colonel's  face  lit  up. 

"I'll  go  you,"  he  said,  "and  she  will  back  us 
up  or  I'm  not  one  of  her  best  and  oldest  friends." 

As  the  group  from  Paradise  waited  on  the 
platform  the  Manifold  carriage  drove  bravely 
up.  It  had  been  "done  up"  for  the  occasion  and 
shone  in  the  sun  with  new  paint  and  varnish. 
Peter  was  beyond  criticism  in  a  Prince  Albert 
coat  that  made  him  look  like  a  preacher,  and  a 


ij8  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

tall  silk  hat  that  was  at  once  the  instant  envy 
of  every  negro  in  Grafton.  Kitty  May  also  was 
in  high  feather.  Her  gown  had  come  from  Cin- 
cinnati, her  hat  from  Chicago,  her  gloves  from 
New  York.  This  combination,  the  result  of 
mail  orders,  was  most  gratifying  to  Kitty.  Even 
Mrs.  General  Head  put  up  her  lorgnette  and 
said  to  Dulcie: 

"My  love,  will  you  please  look  at  Mrs.  Mani- 
fold?" 

Dulcie  did  not  only  look  at  Mrs.  Manifold, 
but  she  fled  to  her  and  was  clasped  in  her  arms. 

"Darling  Dulcie!  You  see  we  are  all  here 
and  I  want  to  introduce  my  pa,  Mr.  John  May. 
You  all  know  I  said  he  would  stand  by  you, 
Dulcie,  tooth  and  nail.  And  here  he  is  to  do  it!" 

A  very  fat,  good-natured  gentleman  with  a 
right  merry  eye  and  a  wheeze  came  up,  followed 
by  Mammy  Reba  and  the  ubiquitous  Eustace. 
To  every  one's  surprise  he  at  once  assumed  such 
a  sort  of  good-natured  command  over  every- 
body and  everything  that  it  carried  the  day. 

"Land  o'  me,  it  is  hot  for  this  time  o'  year! 
Mrs.  DeWitt,  since  you  are  cousin  Dulcie  to 
my  gal,  I  just  will  have  to  adopt  you  on  the  spot. 
I'm  the  purely  disinterested  party  that  will 
pilot  you  all  right  through  the  day  if  you  all 
will  accept  my  escort." 

"Law,  pa,  you  are  the  biggest  beau  yet!" 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN  z39 

cried  Kitty  May  in  sheer  delight.  "You  hang 
on  to  Pa,  Dulcie  D.,  and  you  will  come  out  all 
right.  Pa  is  a  power." 

Beamer  Van  Wye  nudged  Lucian  with  his 
elbow. 

"Now  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?" 

Dulcie  had  succumbed  to  Mr.  May  after  one 
look  into  the  kind,  round  face. 

"No  wonder  Kitty  May  is  such  a  dear,"  she 
said,  a  little  tremulously. 

"It  runs  in  the  family,"  chuckled  the  old 
gentleman,  "so  we  will  call  it  a  bargain.  Now 
here  comes  the  train.  I  hear  we  are  to  have  a 
special  car  —  which  is  very  nice  and  swell.  Shall 
I  give  you  my  arm  and  just  tuck  Lady  Em'ly 
on  the  other  side  ?  Don't  you  mind  the  crowd 
a  bit,  my  dears.  I  can't  be  shoved  off  my  feet 
easy,  I  tell  you!" 

It  was  a  truly  delectable  sight  to  see  Mr.  John 
May  proudly  escort  the  ladies  to  the  Pull- 
man car.  The  Congressman  and  Mrs.  General 
stared  as  they  followed,  Kitty  May  captured 
Mr.  Fordyce  Beardsley  with  a  smile,  and  the 
Colonel,  trailing  along  with  the  masculine  ele- 
ment in  the  rear,  declared  he'd  be  damned  if 
he  had  ever  seen  such  infernal  impudence  in  all 
his  life. 

"He's  saved  the  day,"  declared  the  lawyer, 
"He  always  wins  in  a  lawsuit  —  it's  in  him, 


140  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

that's  all.  I  never  do  go  against  him.  He's  had 
about  twenty  suits  in  his  life  and  he's  won  out 
every  time." 

Later  on  the  same  party  became  the  sole 
occupants  of  a  small  and  dusty  room  in  the  old 
red  brick  court-house  at  Middletown.  It  was 
still  warm  enough  for  impudent  flies  to  buzz 
noisily  at  the  dirty  windows  and  for  the  men  to 
sigh  and  mop  their  faces.  There  was  a  row  of 
wooden  chairs  along  the  wall  and  in  these  the 
ladies  sat  while  the  men  stood  up  or  walked 
about  in  an  embarrassed,  awkward  uncertainty 
as  to  what  they  ought  to  do  or  to  say.  Even  Mrs. 
General  had  no  precedent,  and  she  said  so  to 
Kitty  May  as  they  took  chairs  at  the  end  of  the 
line. 

"  I  never  was  in  a  country  court-house  before 
this,  or  at  a  divorce  trial." 

"I  suppose  not,"  returned  Kitty  May  sym- 
pathetically, "but  it's  just  like  having  teeth 
pulled.  It  will  soon  be  over.  I  feel  just  like  I  was 
at  a  funeral  —  not  of  a  real  relative,  you  all 
know,  but  of  some  one  I  had  met,  anyhow." 

Mrs.  General  moved  uneasily. 

"I  don't  suppose  that  anything  could  go 
wrong." 

"Law,  no!"  returned  Kitty  May,  "the  men 
have  been  watching  things.  But  I  can  ask  pa  — 
he  can  find  out." 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN  241 

She  attacked  her  father,  who  was  playing  "  Bo 
peep"  with  Eustace. 

"Could  anything  go  wrong,  pa  ?" 

He  gave  her  a  startled  glance. 

"God  bless  me,  I  hope  not!  I  believe  I  better 
go  out  and  see  how  the  land  lays,  hadn't  I?" 
and  he  hurried  out. 

In  the  meantime,  in  the  corridor  just  without 
the  door,  Peter  Manifold,  Colonel  Buckman 
and  the  lawyer  were  smoking  and  kicking  at 
the  baseboards  under  a  window.  Their  ex- 
pressions were  varied  and  not  reassuring.  Bea- 
mer  Van  Wye  had  seen  Anson  Graham  below 
stairs  and  wondered  if  the  man  had  any  errand  up 
his  sleeve  that  would  mean  a  defence  on  the  part 
of  Doctor  DeWitt.  It  put  him  in  a  cold  sweat. 

"You  never  can  tell  just  what  a  scoundrel 
will  do,"  the  lawyer  commented  wisely. 

From  the  court-room  beyond  there  came 
a  monotonous  hum  of  voices.  Another  case  was 
on,  and  presently  loud  sounds  of  weeping  were 
heard.  John  May  thrust  his  head  in  at  the  door. 

"Pah!"  he  said,  and  withdrew  hastily.  There 
followed  a  frowsy  country  woman,  who  had, 
for  good  reasons,  been  severed  from  a  home 
she  had  wantonly  outraged  for  years.  Wailing, 
she  passed  along. 

"Hardin  Hovey's  got  his  freedom,"  observed 
Van  Wye,  "and  we  come  next." 


242  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

He  brushed  his  hair  back  from  his  brow  and 
passed  into  the  court-room  with  an  easy  stride. 

In  the  meantime  Dulcie  sat  stupidly  in  her 
wooden  chair  against  the  wall.  Her  heart  beat 
quickly  and  her  pulses  fluttered.  She  looked, 
dumb  and  unseeing,  at  the  objects  and  at  people 
about  her.  She  could  not  believe  or  understand 
that  here  was  the  hour  of  positive  disruption, 
here  the  moment  that  unloosed  those  bonds 
and  obligations  she  had  taken  on  herself  eight 
years  before.  There  appeared  before  her,  as  in 
a  picture,  the  moment  of  her  marriage.  She  saw 
herself  in  her  white  frock,  her  white-plumed 
hat,  entering  the  Grafton  church  on  her  father's 
arm.  She  heard  the  low,  sweet  music  that  played 
"Call  Me  Thine  Own."  She  saw  the  doctor, 
tall  and  well  groomed,  under  the  chancel  light, 
waiting.  She  heard  herself  say  "I  will,"  and 
then  something  clutched  her.  It  was  Kitty 
May,  a  little  pale  and  with  very  pitiful,  loving 
eyes. 

"Get  ready,  dear.  Pa  says  the  case  is  called. 
Now  hold  right  up." 

The  women  crowded  about,  awe-filled.  Lady 
Emily  took  one  of  Dulcie's  gloved  hands. 

Lucian  and  Fordyce  Beardsley  came  in  to- 
gether. They  glanced  at  the  group  and  stood 
over  in  a  corner  helplessly.  Mrs.  General  Head 
joined  the  women,  and  the  Congressman,  after 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN  243 

a  word  or  two,  went  out  into  the  court-room  to 
watch  the  proceedings. 

Still  the  flies  buzzed  on  the  dirty  panes,  still 
every  one  waited.  It  was  hideously  like  expecting 
a  corpse  to  be  brought  into  a  room  of  mourners. 
The  Colonel  put  in  his  head  and  motioned  to 
the  twins.  They  went  out  after  him.  In  five 
minutes  Kitty  May  was  discovered  sobbing  a 
little. 

"  I  wish  some  one  would  talk,"  she  gasped  out. 

Dulcie  pulled  her  head  over  on  her  own 
shoulder. 

"Don't  you  cry!  I'm  not  realizing  it,  Kitty 
May." 

"It  isn't  a  funeral,"  stated  Mrs.  General, 
"and  we  are  all  making  it  worse.  Let  us  be  more 
cheerful.  It  cannot  last  long.  I  think  you  are 
wise  not  to  try  to  realize  it,  Dulcie  dear,  so  as  to 
keep  up.  You  are  in  the  right." 

"I  couldn't  help  thinking  about,  'let  no  man 
put  asunder,'"  said  Dulcie  simply. 

Kitty  May  jumped  as  if  shot. 

"Yes,  but  there  is  a  front  to  that.  'Whom 
God  hath  joined.'  He  never  joined  you  two.  It 
was  just  a  mistake.  If  God  had  joined  you  two 
I'd  feel  different;  but  God  never  does  join 
goodness  to  deceit  nor  right  to  meanness,  and 
He  says  in  the  Bible  to  'eschew  evil/  You  are 
eschewing  evil  —  that's  all.  Don't  you  worry!" 


344  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

At  that  moment  the  Colonel,  very  red  in  the 
face,  and  the  almost  breathless  Mr.  John  May, 
came  in  hastily. 

"Dulcie!" 

"Yes,  you  are  wanted  now,  my  dear/'  puffed 
Mr.  May,  "and  we'll  take  you  in  all  right. 
There's  nothing  to  worry  over.  Everything  is 
going  on  beautifully,  beautifully." 

But  when  Dulcie  was  fairly  out  of  the  room 
all  the  women  wept,  even  Mrs.  General,  who 
was  furious  at  herself  since  she  knew  it  was  the 
one  thing  fatal  to  her  personal  appearance. 

Dulcie  took  Mr.  May's  arm  and  the  Colonel's 
hand.  So  supported,  she  seemed  to  float  into 
vast  and  unreal  spaces.  The  large  court-room 
was  as  dirty  and  gloomy  as  possible.  There  was 
a  jumble  of  spectators  back  of  a  rail,  a  tired- 
looking  old  man  sitting  up  at  a  high  bench  or 
desk.  She  took  a  solitary  seat  in  front  and  heard 
Mr.  May's  wheezing  near  her  in  the  rear.  Some 
one  asked  her  a  trivial  question  or  two,  and,  be- 
tween answers,  she  seemed  floating  on  a  cloud, 
away,  away.  Beamer  Van  Wye  sometimes  con- 
versed in  low  tones  with  the  judge,  leaving  her 
the  cynosure  of  curious  eyes. 

Presently  there  was  a  whack  on  the  bench 
and  the  tired  voice  said  something  almost  in- 
audible about  being  well  acquainted  with  the 
facts  in  this  ca.se.  He  then  growled  out  some- 


CHAPTER   EIGHTEEN  245 

thine  additional  to  the  clerk  below  and  there 

O 

was  an  instant  buzz  and  whisper  through  all  the 
room.  Beamer  Van  Wye  advanced  and  gave 
Dulcie  his  arm  and  the  Colonel  and  Mr.  May 
came  close  to  her  in  the  rear.  At  the  corridor 
door  Lucian  Beardsley,  startlingly  pale,  and 
his  grave  brother,  were  in  wait.  In  the  back- 
ground crowded  Mrs.  General,  much  dishevelled, 
and  Lady  Emily,  very  red-eyed.  Dulcie  stood 
stupidly  in  their  midst,  wondering  much.  Sud- 
denly she  realized  Colonel  Buckman's  words: 

"Well,  it's  done!  You  are  a  free  woman  now, 
Dulcie." 

"  Is  that  all  there  is  to  it  ?"  she  asked  vaguely, 
even  fearfully. 

"Yes  —  thank  God!"  said  Beamer  Van  Wye. 
He  was  mopping  his  forehead  although  it  was 
growing  colder  outside.  "There  was  no  defence 
made." 

"  Don't  see  how  there  could  be,"  said  Fordyce 
Beardsley  nervously,  "I  don't  see  how  there 
could  be,  do  you  ?" 

"You  stood  it  very  well,"  cooed  Lady  Emily, 
fastening  Dulcie's  little  cape  affectionately,  "but 
do  let  us  get  out  of  this  horrid  place.  Fordyce, 
take  your  cousin,  and  Lucian  will  walk  with 
us." 

"  But  I  must  first  kiss  Dulcie,"  broke  in  Mrs. 
General,  "  for  she  did  keep  up  so  bravely." 


146  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

She  bustled  up  and  gave  Dulcie  a  salute  on 
the  cheek,  then  a  little  whisper  in  her  ear: 

"Now  you  say  something  nice  to  Lucian. 
He  is  really  neglected." 

"Don't  ask  me  to,"  said  Dulcie,  her  lips 
quivering,  "it  would  break  me  right  down." 

"Later,  then,  I  will  tell  him.  He  surely  deserves 
it  and  you  are  now  absolutely  free.  It  is  no  longer 
wrong,  foolish  child.  You  are  as  free  as  air,  free 
to  say,  act  and  go  as  you  please  without  any 
scandal  or  comment." 

Something  upsoared  in  Dulcie's  breast,  some- 
thing blinded  her  eyes.  A  mountain  fell  away, 
a  vista  of  freedom  opened. 

"Take  care,"  said  Lucian's  voice,  surely  a 
little  husky,  "there  is  a  step.  Why,  Dulcie!"  for 
she  was  weeping. 

To  think  with  Lucian  Beardsley  was  to  act. 
He  threw  open  a  door,  and  seeing  a  room  empty 
of  people,  swept  Dulcie  and  Mrs.  General  right 
into  it. 

"There  will  be  people  outside,"  he  said  briefly, 
"  and  she  must  not  cry.  I  will  get  a  closed  carriage 
in  a  moment.  And  tell  the  others  to  go  on." 

It  was  but  a  gust,  and  Dulcie  came  into  the 
Pullman  car  for  her  ride  to  Grafton  quite  cheer- 
ful. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

METHINKS  THE  AFFRIGHTED  EARTH  SHOULD  YAWN  AT 
ALTERATION 

DAMME  if  I  like  it,  Beamer!" 
The  Colonel  occupied  the  best  rock- 
ing chair  in  what  Linas  called  the 
"bridal  suit"  of  the  Grafton  House.  His  stock- 
inged feet  were  elevated  upon  another  chair. 
Upon  an  ancient,  marble-topped  table  between 
him  and  Van  Wye  stood  a  black  tray  brave 
with  bottles,  spoons,  a  sugar  bowl,  lemons  and 
glasses.  On  the  stone  hearth  in  front  of  a  gen- 
erous wood  fire  gently  hissed  a  small  iron  tea- 
kettle. 

The  lawyer,  also  coatless,  sat  with  his  hair 
pushed  back  in  great  disarray.  His  feet  were 
far  extended  towards  the  heat.  His  long  fingers 
drummed  nervously  upon  the  table. 

"Damme  if  I  do  like  it!"  repeated  the  Col- 
onel, "  and  I  half  wish  the  thing  were  not  done, 
although  I  have  helped  it  along  since  it  really 
247 


048  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

had  to  be  done.  I  couldn't  go  up  there,"  he 
jerked  his  head  to  the  north,  "and  feast  and 
laugh  and  talk  rot.  I  cannot  think  of  Dul- 
cie  there  now.  Lord,  Lord!  What  is  life  any- 
how?" 

"Mrs.  General  observed  to  me  only  yester- 
day," said  Beamer  Van  Wye  slowly,  "that  Para- 
dise would  probably  be  en  fite  to-night,  aglow 
of  light  on  their  successful  return.  There  would 
be  a  dinner  especially  composed  for  the  occasion 
—  an  actual  poem,  you  know.  I  ventured  to  ask 
her  what  she  considered  appropriate  for  a  feast 
of  disseverance,  dissolution  of  partnership,  etc. 
She  thought  a  moment  and  then  cleverly  re- 
plied, ' 'Consomme  a  la  bonne  femme,  fillet  of 
sole,  roast  heart,  devilled  game,  Waldorf  salad, 
and  Mother  Eve's  pudding.'  That  shows  that 
Mrs.  General  is  not  without  wit  and  real  com- 
prehension of  the  situation." 

The  Colonel  glared  into  the  fire,  wrathful  at 
once. 

"What  she  doesn't  know  isn't  worth  know- 
ing." 

The  lawyer  took  a  small  brown  pipe  from  his 
pocket  and  filled  it  carefully.  As  he  lit  it,  he  said, 
over  the  tray : 

"Has  Beardsley  ever  dropped  you  any  hints 
as  to  what  he  wanted  to  do  about  Dulcie  ?" 

"Naw!"  the  Colonel  dropped  into  his  stable 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN  249 

boy's  vernacular,  "he  don't  hint.  He  shuts  up 
or  says." 

Van  Wye  blew  smoke  rings. 

"We  are  all  in  a  queer  box.  I  wish  we  really 
knew  what  Dulcie  feels  or  wants  to  do.  I  have 
not  spoken  to  her  alone  for  two  months.  I 
didn't  want  to,  somehow." 

"Nor  I,  not  after  that  Graham  business. 
We  ought  to  speak  —  we  are  her  oldest  friends. 
She  may  not  want  to  stay  there,  actually  depend- 
ent on  him.  I  do  believe,  Beamer,  he  would  just 
as  soon  marry  her  to-morrow  as  marry  her  at 
all.  He  seems  utterly  cut  loose  from  all  the  old 
ideas,  much  more  so  than  that  brother  of  his. 
He  thinks  life  is  all  for  pleasure  and  happiness. 
He  is  absolutely  indifferent  to  anything  we  think 
or  feel  whenever  it  goes  against  his  desires.  He 
does  not  look  upon  a  woman  as  we  do.  I've  seen 
him  with  the  Hartopps  and  the  Greathouse 
girls.  He  treats  them  much  as  I  do  my  helpers 
if  they're  decent  at  all  —  like  sort  of  good  fellows 
whom  he'd  help  in  any  way  he  could.  I  think  he 
feels  much  the  same  way  toward  Dulcie." 

"You've  hit  it  to  a  T,"  puffed  Van  Wye. 

"He  feels  the  lack  of  something  we  have  at 
times,"  meandered  the  Colonel,  "and  there  is 
where  we  bother  him.  He  thinks  we  fuss  over 
things  not  worth  while  and  that  he  will  have  to 
humour  us  while  he  is  here  with  us.  I  believe 


150  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

he  will  try  to  take  her  from  Kentucky  if  he  does 
not  marry  her  at  once." 

The  lawyer  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and 
smiled  bitterly. 

"I've  thought  of  all  this,  and  yet  I  have  to 
like  the  fellow  for  some  things,  Colonel.  He  is 
absolutely  fearless." 

"  'Tisn't  so  much  courage  as  indifference," 
insisted  the  Colonel ;  "we're  old  fogies,  with  old 
fogy  notions.  He  won't  harry  himself  with  our 
particular  worries  and  ideas.  He  expects  to 
lope  through  life  on  his  money  as  he  has  always 
done.  There's  only  one  key  to  the  whole  business, 
and  Dulcie  holds  it.  She  is  free  now.  Is  she  go- 
ing to  be  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  those  people, 
or  has  she  got  snap  enough  to  see  her  own  fix 
and  to  go  her  own  way  ?" 

"She  hasn't  given  me  an  idea  as  to  how  she 
feels  toward  Beardsley,"  said  Van  Wye,  slowly ; 
"it  has  puzzled  me." 

"That's  the  Kentucky  in  her,"  returned  the 
Colonel,  "and  that's  my  sole  hope  of  her.  Dulcie 
is  standing  right  where  she  can  get  out  if  the 
lightning  strikes  her  and  shows  her  the  way. 
The  thing  she  does  next  will  decide  her  whole 
future. " 

"  I  should  say  so, "  retorted  Beamer  Van  Wye. 

A  gust  blew  against  the  window  panes  and 
there  was  the  sudden  hard  beat  of  cold  rain. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN  251 

"Up  at  Paradise  they  are  lively  enough,"  ob- 
served the  lawyer.  "You  saw  Beardsley's  puz- 
zled look  when  we  backed  out. " 

"I  could  not  go  there,"  growled  the  Colonel. 
"I  didn't  want  to  go  home,  either." 

The  lawyer  coughed  delicately. 

"This  has  made  a  heap  o'  trouble  between 
Sudie  and  me,"  went  on  the  Colonel,  "but  I'll 
stay  by  her  now  and  see  it  through,  and  trust 
to  time  to  soothe  up  Mrs.  Buckman.  I'm  dead 
tired  of  it.  I'm  wondering  if  it  will  do  any  good. 
I'm  sick  of  it,  sick  of  it. " 

"If  only  I  knew  what  the  girl  was  doing,"  he 
went  on  after  a  silence,  his  mouth  quivering. 
"I'm  a  childless  man  and  I  can't  forget  how  she 
has  turned  to  me  when  she  was  in  her  worst 
troubles.  A  man  ought  to  have  children,  espe- 
cially when  he  is  getting  on  in  years.  It  keeps  him 
human.  I  feel  her  tears  on  my  cheeks  yet.  I  can't 
tell  you  how  I  feel,  but  I  know  I  cannot  stand 
what  I  do  feel  much  longer." 

"She  has  stood  her  world  on  its  head,  sure 
enough,"  said  the  lawyer,  "as  women  can.  And 
she  has  hid  away  her  real  feelings  if  she  has  any 
liking  for  Beardsley.  There's  been  nothing  on  her 
part  but  a  frightened  hovering  under  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral's wing.  I  never  saw  her  give  him  a  single  look 
or  act  as  if  he  existed.  Dulcie  is  no  light-minded 
whippet.  I  cannot  imagine  her  in  those  doings  up 


z52  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

there,  coolly  eating  and  drinking  and  listening  to 
the  light  remarks  and  even  congratulations  of 
the  others.  No,  sir,  I  cannot  put  Dulcie  DeWitt 
there  at  all. " 

"Nor  I,"  said  the  Colonel,  "nor  I.  If  only 
Kitty  May  had  stayed  or  John  May.  But  no, 
Kitty  May  was  on  the  verge  of  tears  when  they 
drove  away.  It  is  those  moderns  who  do  not 
care,  who  think  of  divorce  as  they  do  of  the 
mumps  or  measles  —  something  unpleasant  but 
to  be  endured  while  it  lasts. " 

"Appendicitis  is  the  fashionable  disease," 
murmured  Van  Wye. 

"Appendicitis!"  roared  the  Colonel;  "of 
course.  May  I  die  intact!" 

"Lady  Emily  is  a  good  woman,"  quoth  the 
lawyer,  "but  Beardsley  in  his  heart  thinks  her 
stupid.  Dulcie  is,  after  all,  in  the  same  hands  she 
has  been  in  —  those  of  Providence.  We've  got  to 
come  back  to  that  as  a  sort  of  geological  founda- 
tion. 

"Providence!"  scoffed  the  Colonel,  "Provi- 
dence in  the  shape  of  a  lot  of  moderns  who  do  not 
consider  us  of  the  same  clay  as  themselves;  who 
sneer  at  my  few  thousands;  who  call  me  'only  a 
hoss-dealer' ;  who  like  Dulcie  because  of  Lucian 
Beardsley's  whim;  who  hunt  pleasure  as  a  busi- 
ness; who  make  their  own  creed;  who  are  self- 
seeking  only  and  who  put  their  own  delights 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN  453 

above  all  of  the  things  God  made  men  and  wo- 
men for.  Damme!  —  now  do  let  me  swear,  Beam- 
er  —  damme  I  tell  you,  I  don't  like  Dulcie  to 
feel  that  she  will  have  to  marry  Beardsley,  willy- 
nilly,  or  think  it  her  duty  to  fall  in  love  with  him 
out  of  gratitude. 

"I  wish  we  could  see  her,"  decided  the  Colo- 
nel; "  we  will  see  her,  you  and  I  alone,  and  set 
things  plain  before  her." 

The  lawyer  held  up  his  hand.  The  "bridal 
suit"  was  private  enough  to  have  a  sort  of  vesti- 
bule, and  from  this  now  proceeded  voices.  Then 
a  knock  came  at  the  inner  door. 

"It's  only  me,  gentlemen,"  said  the  voice  of 
Linas. 

Beamer  Van  Wye  trod  softly  over  the  floor  and 
looked  out. 

"  I  jes'  looked  in  ter  see  ef  you  war  clothed  up 
yet,"  Linas  said.  "Mis'  DeWitt  that  war  form- 
ahly  is  outen  the  passway  now.  She  come  ovah 
with  John  Childress  an'  is  honin'  ter  see  ye  all 
ter-night  fer  some  reason  er  other. " 

"Give  us  five  minutes,  Linas,"  said  the  law- 
yer, "  and  we  will  let  her  come  in. " 

In  conventional  array  a  few  moments  later, 
the  Colonel  hurried  into  the  hall.  Dulcie  De- 
Witt,  wrapped  in  a  wet  cloak  and  with  her 
head  muffled  up,  was  waiting  with  John  Child- 
ress. 


254  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"I  want  to  see  you  real  badly,  Colonel,"  she 
began. 

"John,  you  go  below  and  tell  Linas  you  are  to 
get  dry  and  to  have  what  you  want,"  ordered  the 
Colonel,  "and  wait  until  we  send  for  you,  d'ye 
hear?" 

He  led  Dulcie  into  the  big  room  and  both  he 
and  the  lawyer  removed  her  wet  wrappings.  No 
festal  array  was  under  them.  Dulcie  had  put  on 
her  black  riding  habit  and  not  even  a  white  collar 
livened  its  gloom. 

"I  wanted  to  see  you,"  she  breathed  a  little 
hoarsely.  "I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  both  so 
much." 

"You  must  get  dry  and  warm  first,"  said  the 
Colonel  soothingly.  "We  wanted  to  see  you  just 
as  bad,  Dulcie." 

He  tried  to  smile  at  her  in  his  old  way. 

"I  thought  you  were  here." 

"Wasn't  you  afraid  to  come  out,  you've  been 
so  well  taken  care  of  up  there  ?" 

"John  would  do  anything  for  me,"  she  said 
gently,  "and  you  know  he  used  to  carry  me 
around  when  I  was  little  and  had  my  father.  You 
remember. " 

They  placed  a  chair  for  her  opposite  them  in 
the  warmth  and  fire-glow.  She  pushed  back  a  few 
strands  of  wet  hair  and  put  out  her  hands  to  the 
heat.  She  looked  white  and  frightened. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN  255 

"  It  is  so  good  to  be  with  you, "  she  said  slowly. 
"  I  had  to  get  away  from  all  of  it  —  anyhow  for 
a  while.  I  could  not  go  to  their  dinner  —  I  could 
not.  I  waited  until  they  were  all  at  it  and  then 
hurried  out  of  doors.  I  had  to  go  away. " 

"Dulcie!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  fascinated 
by  her  tone,  "what  is  all  this  ?" 

"I  had  to  be  alone." 

The  men  waited  for  her  farther  story  and  she 
spoke  to  them  as  one  impelled  by  unseen  forces. 
Out  in  the  open  voices  began  calling  her  when 
the  night  came  down.  The  same  voices  had  called 
her  when  Death  had  claimed  her  children  and  her 
father.  The  barriers  seemed  down  between  her 
and  her  unseen  world.  Shadow  shapes  ran  close 
to  her  and  called  her  vaguely  or  clearly.  She  was 
quite  as  wildly  haunted  by  the  fear  or  Dr. 
DeWitt  if  she  went  beyond  the  garden.  She  looked 
wildly  about  even  there  for  fear  she  might  meet 
that  terror  from  whom  she  would  ever  and  always 
flee  —  her  worst  foe,  the  husband  that  had  been. 

Free  ?  Who  would  free  her  from  that  man  ? 
Nothing  in  heaven  or  earth.  No  God  could  be 
powerful  enough  to  erase  the  blots  upon  her 
life,  the  scars  upon  her  memory.  Free  ?  She  ran 
in  the  wintry  wind  and  cast  up  her  desperate 
hands  to  Heaven  until  they  were  torn  by  the 
thorny,  overhanging  rose-boughs.  Free,  when 
there  burned  in  her  heart  that  bad  man's  sneers 


256  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

and  leers  and  awful  words  and  curses  ?  Dulcie 
realized  now.  They  had  never  allowed  her  to  be 
alone,  never  let  her  think;  but  now  this  hour  had 
come  and  she  had  defied  them  and  turned  the 
key  on  them  all. 

She  was  free  to  live  her  own  life,  but  she  knew 
not  where,  and  her  soul  revolted  at  an  artifi- 
cial one.  O,  for  Aunt  Sudie's  breast,  on  which  to 
hide  her  awful  grief!  O,  for  that  bitter  misery 
in  the  past  that  had  been  a  duty  "  stiff"  and  holy !" 

Presently,  as  she  ran  shivering  to  and  fro,  even 
peering  out  at  the  gate  and  down  the  dark  road, 
there  came  the  thought  to  her:  "Why  had 
Colonel  Buckman  and  Mr.  Van  Wye  not  come 
with  them  to  Paradise,  but,  in  spite  of  expostu- 
lations, left  them  at  the  railway  station  ?"  They 
were  her  old  friends,  they  were  very  near  and 
dear  to  her.  She  wanted  them,  she  must  see  them, 
but  she  could  not  dare  the  road  alone. 

The  night  was  dark  and  gusty.  Sometimes  a 
few  drops  anticipated  the  cold  rain.  Suddenly 
there  came  slipping  and  shuffling  feet  along  the 
gravel.  Old  John  was  making  his  round  of  the 
gardens.  She  ran  to  him  and  she  clutched  his 
arm  ere  he  saw  her  at  all. 

"John,  John,  it's  your  Mis'  Dulcie.  Don't  you 
cry  out.  I  do  want  to  see  Colonel  Buckman  so 
much.  He  is  at  the  hotel,  John.  You  must  go  with 
me  for  my  father's  sake. " 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN  257 

The  old  man  stared  at  her  in  dismay. 

"Lawd,  you  take  ma  breff!  W'y  ain't  yuh  in 
dar  whar  dinner's  gwine  on,  Mis'  Dulcie  ?" 

"I  couldn't,  I  couldn't.  John,  do  go  with  me?" 

"  Marse  Beardsley  won't  stan'  for  it,  Mis'  Dul- 
cie. I  knows  dat. " 

"Shall  I  go  up  there  all  alone  ?" 

"Lawd,  no,  no!  Well,  less  us  hurry.  Soon  gone, 
soon  come  back.  Yer  won't  stay  no  time  ?" 

"No,  no!" 

While  they  were  on  the  way  the  rain  came, 
cold  and  pitiless. 

"It  seems  as  if  I  must  go  mad,"  finished  Dul- 
cie. "Have  I  done  right  or  done  wrong,  and  what 
is  to  become  of  me  ?  I  haven't  any  hold  on  any- 
thing, Colonel,  not  anything  at  all.  I  seem  in  the 
middle  of  nothing,  and  everything  slipping 
under  my  feet.  Colonel,  tell  me  what  to  do  next  ? 
I  don't  know  what  is  right  or  wrong. " 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

SO  TRUE  A  FOOL  IS  LOVE 

THE  commonplace,  middle-aged  horse- 
dealer  and  the  lawyer  with  the  noble 
forehead  listened  to  Dulcie's  words  with 
both  fascination  and  terror.  The  exciting  did  not 
often  come  into  their  lives.  That  instinct,  the  love 
of  the  dramatic,  which  is  implanted  in  every 
human  breast,  had  to  be  satisfied  with  what  it 
could  glean  out  of  every-day  existence.  Here  was 
true  tragedy.  A  woman  dear  to  both,  held  to  them 
by  the  intangible  bond  of  unsatisfied  fatherhood, 
had  risen  above  the  doing  of  ordinary  things  and 
thrilled  them  with  the  intensity  of  her  hour  of 
suffering.  In  her  they  still  saw  the  child  Dulcie, 
the  daughter  of  their  soldier-idol,  Philip  Child- 
ress.  As  a  child  she  had  shared  his  popularity; 
after  his  death  she  was  not  forgotten.  To  these 
two  men  Dulcie  DeWitt  returned  to-night  with 
no  trappings  of  fashion,  no  new  modes  of  speech 
258 


CHAPTER  TWENTY  259 

or  manner.  She  was  certainly  more  beautiful  than 
ever  before,  but  still  the  poor,  broken,  beseeching 
Dulcie  of  Glen  Farm.  The  two  men  rejoiced  while 
they  shuddered,  because  they  realized  a  strength 
in  the  woman  that  had  not  been  known  as  hers 
in  other  days.  They  felt  that,  through  wrong 
and  truth  and  woe  and  martyrdom,  a  char- 
acter was  emerging,  one  that  grew  triumphant 
before  their  very  eyes,  even  as  an  angel,  with 
wide,  white  wings,  rose  from  a  sepulchre  long 
ago. 

In  different  ways  both  men  realized  this 
change,  and  a  courage  came  to  them  to  once 
more  lay  hold  for  her  and  work  out  a  way  to 
better  things.  The  Colonel,  soldier-like,  flew  at 
once  to  the  breach. 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  Dulcie?  After 
we  all  have  stood  by  you,  too!" 

"You  mustn't  help  me  any  more,  Colonel 
dear." 

The  man  gasped  and  sputtered  an  exclama- 
tion. 

"Because  it's  made  great  trouble  for  you, 
and  with  good  Aunt  Sudie.  She  thinks  she  is 
right,  and  maybe  she  is.  I  don't  want  to  stand 
between  you  two.  Why,  that  would  be  wrong  in 
me!" 

"Some  one  has  been  tattling  again." 

"Kitty    May    mentioned    it.    She    knew    I 


ifio  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

wouldn't  like  that  at  all.  So,  dear  old  Colonel, 
you  cannot  help  me  any  more.  I  was  bound  to 
tell  you." 

"I  am  kicked  out,  am  I  ?"  quoth  the  Colonel 
grimly  enough,  "fairly  given  the  mitten.  This 
is,  I  suppose,  all  in  the  new  order  of  things. 
How  about  your  father's  other  friend  and  com- 
rade, Beamer,  here  ?  What  have  you  to  say  to 
him?" 

The  lawyer  cleared  his  throat. 

"I  was  your  father's  friend  also,  Dulcie,"  he 
said  gently,  "and  I  stand  ready  to  help  you  if 
you  will  take  it. " 

Dulcie  smiled  more  sadly. 

"You  cannot  do  much,  either,"  she  said,  "for 
though  you  are  old  enough  to  be  my  father  and 
I  do  trust  you,  every  man  who  is  kind  to  me  hurts 
himself  as  badly  as  he  does  me.  That's  how  I 
have  studied  it  out." 

Both  men  grew  very  red.  The  Colonel  ral- 
lied. 

"What  do  you  want  to  do,  Dulcie  ?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  burst  out: 

"Why  shouldn't  I  tell  you  two  ?  I  don't  really 
know.  Something  has  a  hold  on  me.  I  do  not 
come  to  any  clear  ideas.  I  used  to  be  able  to 
decide  things.  When  I  try  now,  something  par- 
alyses me.  I  do  not  seem  to  be  myself.  I  want 
your  advice  as  to  what  to  do. " 


CHAPTER  TWENTY  261 

She  spoke  dreamily  and  turned  her  face  to  the 
fire.  The  lawyer  eyed  her  sharply,  then  made  a 
sign  of  caution  to  the  Colonel. 

"You  are  so  worn  out  in  your  mind  —  so  very 
tired,"  he  said  gently;  "when  better  days  come 
you  will  find  your  decisions  can  be  made  at  once 
as  they  used  to  be  made.  When  people  have  gone 
through  much  mental  stress  and  suffering  all 
things  are  confused  and  unbalanced.  Time  will 
be  very  merciful  to  you.  Time  proves  all 
things. " 

Dulcie  did  not  seem  to  have  heard  all  he  said, 
although  she  murmured  a  responsive  "Yes" 
while  gazing  into  the  embers. 

The  men  watched  her,  amazed  at  the  change 
in  her  mood.  Very  softly,  then,  the  lawyer  pushed 
an  envelope  over  the  table  to  the  Colonel.  On  it 
was  one  written  word.  The  Colonel  leaned  over, 
read  it  and  ejaculated  an  ominous  "Humph!" 
At  this  Dulcie  dropped  the  elbow  which  had 
supported  her  chin  and  looked  at  them  va- 
guely. 

"  I  was  almost  asleep  —  or  dreaming, "  she 
said  softly. 

How  gently  and  gallantly  the  tall  man  stepped 
to  her  side!  How  bright  and  soft  his  deep  eyes! 
There  was  real  music  in  his  voice. 

"Dreaming,  I  hope,"  he  said,  "and  of  bright- 
er, better  days.  This  is  the  turning-point  of  your 


Z6i  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

life,  dear  lady,  dear  child,  as  you  still  seem  to  us. 
You  have  cast  aside  your  past  life  and  must  take 
up  a  new  one.  May  it  be  a  happier  one,  while  it 
can  hardly  be  one  any  purer,  any  truer,  any  less 
womanly. " 

Dulcie's  eyes  filled. 

"I  am  afraid  of  it  —  afraid,"  she  repeated, 
tremulously. 

The  lawyer  rose  and  stood  before  the  fire. 
There  was  a  smile  on  his  face,  the  saddest  and 
sweetest  of  smiles.  His  slightly-stooped  frame 
straightened,  his  voice  took  on  splendid  cadences. 

"Dulcie,  there  was  a  great  Persian  once,  full 
of  wisdom,  who  outlined  our  days  in  one  line, 

*  The  Moving  Finger  writes  ' 

and  our  own  great  master  of  English  speech  said : 
*  Thus  must  I  from  the  smoke  into  the  smother.' 

Now,  whether  that  Moving  Finger  directs  you 
from  smoke  to  smother  or  from  smother  to 
smoke,  be  yourself.  You  have  fled  away  to- 
night from  pleasure  because  of  the  dictates  of 
your  conscience.  You  have  wept  when  you  might 
have  laughed.  You  could  not  make  a  mock  of 
that  which  good  men  hold  sacred.  We  love  you 
for  it  all,  Dulcie,  but  it  makes  us  very  sad.  You 


CHAPTER  TWENTY  »6j 

should  not  take  things  so  much  to  heart,  you 
should  disregard  our  old-fashioned  ways,  you 
should  be  light-hearted  and  merry  and  look  for- 
ward to  happiness." 

"You  talk  like  Mrs.  General!"  cried  Dulcie, 
aghast. 

"  She  is  wise  —  wise  as  a  serpent.  Dulcie,  for- 
give your  two  old  friends.  We  have  been,  we 
are,  so  full  of  concern  for  you  that  we  could  not 
laugh  or  feast  or  make  merry.  We,  too,  have 
wondered  what  you  had  better  do.  But  there  has 
been  an  answer  sent  to  us.  I  believe  all  that  we 
can  say  to  you  is,  '  May  the  same  Power  and  the 
same  Providence  have  you  in  hand  that  has  be- 
fore sustained  you,'  That  is  life's  sunshine,  and 
sunshine  is  needed  in  a  palace  as  well  as  in  a 
farm-house. " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Van  Wye. " 

"You  will.  There  will  be  the  master  key.  You 
will  know  the  why  and  the  wherefore  of  every- 
thing. Why  I  am  a  failure,  and  why  the  Colonel 
is  not  happy,  and  why  it  would  have  been  a  ten 
times  fouler  wrong  for  you  to  have  gone  back  to 
Glen  Farm  than  we  ever  knew.  The  Moving 
Finger  has  written  out  your  destiny  as  it  writes 
it  out  for  us  all.  It  is  coming  to  you  now. " 

The  Colonel  was  on  his  feet.  Some  one  again 
knocked  in  no  light  fashion  at  the  inner  door. 
The  lawyer  waved  the  Colonel  away. 


164  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

"I  will  open  it  myself,"  he  said  in  his  most 
languid  tones.  "I  claim  the  right  to  let  in  Dul- 
cie's  destiny." 

Dulcie  flew  to  the  side  of  the  Colonel.  She  was 
white  and  beautiful. 

"Good-evening,  gentlemen,"  said  the  lawyer, 
"you  have  been  expected." 

The  brothers  entered  the  room,  singularly 
alike  in  the  shadow.  They  were  in  evening  dress, 
disordered  from  a  hasty  drive  through  the  rain. 
In  appearance  they  were  certainly  at  war  with 
the  ancient  and  second-hand  splendour  of  the 
"  bridal  suit, "  with  the  two  men  and  the  woman 
confronting  them. 

One  of  them  stood  forth.  It  was  Lucian 
Beardsley.  Every  other  heart  beat  at  his  attitude, 
his  countenance,  his  expression.  With  folded 
arms,  with  gleaming  eyes,  with  terrible  self-con- 
trol, so  he  reverted  back  to  his  ancestry  —  a  sav- 
age being  holding  himself  well  in  leash. 

For  a  moment  there  was  an  intense  silence, 
then  the  lawyer  spoke: 

"John  did  not  lose  much  time,  I  see." 

Fordyce  Beardsley's  lip  was  rather  scornful. 

"What  is  this,  what  does  it  all  mean  ?" 

"Simply  that  Mrs.  DeWitt's  former  life  re- 
asserted itself,  and  that  she  wanted  to  see  her 
father's  old  friends.  You  do  not  credit  her  with 
the  feeling  she  seems  to  have. " 


CHAPTER  TWENTY  165 

"Is  she  sorry  she  is  free?"  broke  in  Lucian 
Beardsley.  with  a  hard  sound  in  his  voice. 

"We  have  not  asked  her,"  retorted  the  lawyer, 
"  and  while  I  do  not  wish  to  anger  you,  Beard- 
sley, I  must  say  that  you  really  know  nothing  of 
our  women.  It  is  never  'off  with  the  old  and  on 
with  the  new*  with  our  good  mothers,  sisters  and 
sweethearts.  Dulcie's  whole  soul  cried  out  for  us, 
who  do  understand  all  her  past.  She  is  sensi- 
tive, suffering,  and  sorely  hurt.  To-night  she  was 
broken-spirited  indeed.  Let  her  alone,  or,  at  least, 
let  her  be  as  free  as  she  actually  is. " 

"Is  she  going  to  stay  here?"  asked  Fordyce 
Beardsley  coldly  enough. 

"That  is  as  she  chooses.  She  was  in  too  much 
misery  to  count  the  cost  of  coming,  remember 
that,"  returned  the  lawyer,  "and  she  shall  do  as 
she  pleases." 

"  Certainly,  but  she  should  consider  the  feel- 
ings of  my  brother,  my  own  wife,  myself  also. 
We  have  befriended  her." 

"O  you  have,  you  have!"  broke  from  Dulcie. 

The  Colonel  put  Dulcie  behind  with  a  strong 
hand.  He  was  red  in  the  face  and  his  voice  shook 
nervously: 

"I  can't  say  just  what  I  want  to  say  very  ele- 
gantly, like  Van  Wye  here,  but  you  all  can  un- 
derstand me.  You  all  must  let  Dulcie  DeWitt 
choose,  and  there  will  not  be  any  better  time 


266  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

than  this,  either.  We're  all  smarting  to  the  bone. 
She  owes  it  to  we  all  not  to  harry  us  any  more. 
Mr.  Lucian  Beardley  cannot  have  anything  to  do 
with  this  girl's  future  unless  he  means  to  marry 
her  or  she  means  to  marry  him  in  due  time.  In 
due  time,  I  say,  for  there  will  be  no  to-morrow's 
marrying  of  Phil  Childress's  daughter  after  a  di- 
vorce —  if  I'm  a  living  man.  If  Mr.  Beardsley 
don't  mean  marry  and  Dulcie  here  don't  mean  it, 
why,  these  two  must  surely  separate  and  keep 
separate  for  their  own  sakes  and  to  save 
talk.  I  don't  believe  in  pushing  aside  any 
kind  of  deals.  Let  us  all  understand  each  other 
like  plain,  honest  people.  I  will  provide  for 
the  girl  some  way  or  other,  but,  unless  she 
goes  of  her  own  will  her  future  is  assured  to 
me;  you  modern  folks  can't  have  her  any  longer. 
There,  Dulcie!  There,  Mr.  Beardsley!  Now  you 
all  settle  it.  I've  done  my  duty  by  old  Phil,  come 
what  will." 

He  held  the  woman  close  to  the  heaving 
breast  on  which  she  had  hidden  her  face  long 
ago. 

"A  common  old  hoss-dealer  I  am,"  he  growl- 
ed, "but  I'm  a  Kentuckian,  and  a  Kentuckian 
never  goes  back  on  an  honest  woman  in  sore 
trouble.  Van  Wye  is  with  me. " 

"To  the  end!"  cried  the  lawyer,  his  eyes 
bright,  "to  the  end." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY  267 

The  blood  left  Lucian  Beardsley's  face.  He 
seemed  to  grow  taller. 

"This  is  a  most  singular  procedure.  This  is  the 
second  time  you  have  made  that  demand  of  me, 
Colonel  Buckman." 

"I  had  reasons  both  times,"  retorted  the 
Colonel. 

"  Is  this  the  way  to  woo  your  women  ? "  scorn- 
ed the  Virginian.  "Ask  her  if  she  thinks  this 
fair —  if  it  suits  her  fancy  ?" 

"She  can  choose  her  life  after  you  have  said 
your  say,"  put  in  Van  Wye,  "but  the  Colonel  is 
right.  If  Dulcie  is  to  remain  in  our  plain  life,  she 
had  better  not  go  back  to  Paradise.  We  will  try  to 
find  her  a  home  and  to  aid  her. " 

"It  does  seem  like  coercion,"  broke  in  For- 
dyce  Beardsley,  much  excited;  "it  is  not  right  or 
fair  to  either  of  them. " 

"O  yes,  it  is,  it  is!"  replied  the  Colonel,  "it's 
been  a  case  of  pollyfoxing  around  here  and  there 
and  no  end  of  talk  and  wonder.  Let's  settle  it  once 
for  all  and  breath  easy.  Well,  Mr.  Beardsley,  do 
you  answer  me  like  an  honest  gentleman  ?  What 
do  you  intend  for  Dulcie  DeWitt  in  the  future  ?" 

Then  the  unexpected  happened.  Dulcie  aban- 
doned the  Colonel  and  ran  to  Lucian  Beardsley, 
whose  arm  she  grasped  while  the  tears  ran  down 
her  face. 

"  Don't  you  tell  him,  Lucian.  You  do  not 


i68  THE  ANCIENT  LANDMARK 

have  to,  after  all  your  kindness  to  me.  You  do 
not  have  to  marry  me  at  all,  and  I  do  not  want 
to  marry  any  one  or  grieve  you.  I  will  go  to  Eng- 
land with  Lady  Emily  as  she  asked  me  to  do. 
Now  don't  you  answer  the  Colonel,  and  don't 
be  angry  with  him,  either.  I  would  die  for  any 
one  of  my  kind  friends,  but  you  must  not  quarrel 
over  me. " 

But  Lucian  Beardsley's  face  was  transfigured. 
He  drew  her  to  him  and  wrapped  her  in  his  In- 
verness. 

"Are  you  answered,  gentlemen?  She  goes  to 
my  brother,  who  guards  her  for  me.  I  may  not 
be  a  Kentuckian,  Colonel,  I  may  not  be  an  old 
fogy  or  look  at  some  things  as  you  do,  but  I 
am  human.  Here,  Fordyce,  take  her  —  for  me. 
Where's  your  cloak,  Dulcie  ?  The  women  at  the 
house  are  frantic." 

In  a  room  empty  enough,  with  the  lamp  smok- 
ing and  the  embers  on  the  hearth  all  burned  out, 
Beamer  Van  Wye  spoke  his  conclusions  to  the 
Colonel : 

"We've  seen  an  ancient  landmark  removed, 
Colonel;  there  didn't  seem  any  other  way,  and 
we  helped  move  it.  But  it  certainly  is  a  sobering 
business;  I  hope  down  here  we'll  never  get  to 
the  point  of  doing  it  with  pipes  and  dancing  and 
the  sound  of  cymbals.  I  wish  them  joy  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart;  but  I'll  tell  you  somebody  I 


CHAPTER  TWENTY  169 

wish  joy  more  envious-like,  and  that's  you  and 
Mrs.  B.  You're  out  of  Dulcie's  troubles  now,  and 
you've  got  nothing  to  do  but  go  home  and  make 
it  up. "  He  stood  wringing  the  Colonel's  hand. 
"You  don't  care  for  anybody  else  in  this  world. 
You  are  the  people  that  I  know  '11  live  happy 
ever  after." 

In  dramas  of  Shakspere  have  been  found 
lines  which  well  head  up  some  chapters  in  the  life 
of  a  Kentucky  woman. 


THE    END 


THE     MCCLURE     PRESS.      NEW     YORK 


A     000  131  416     0 


